Robert Greene: [Six Plays]

by Robert Greene

Enter Adam and his crew of Ruffians drunk.

Adam. Farewell, gentle tapster.—Masters, as good ale as ever was tapt; look to your feet, for the ale is strong.—Well, farewell, gentle tapster.

First Ruf. [to Second Ruf.] Why, sirrah slave, by heaven's maker, thinkest thou the wench loves thee best because she laughed on thee? give me but such another word, and I will throw the pot at thy head.

Adam. Spill no drink, spill no drink, the ale is good: I'll tell you what, ale is ale, and so I'll commend me to you with hearty commendations.—Farewell, gentle tapster.

Second Ruf. Why, wherefore, peasant, scornest thou that the wench should love me? look but on her, and I'll thrust my dagger in thy bosom.

First Ruf. Well, sirrah, well, tha'rt as tha'rt, and so I'll take thee.

Second Ruf. Why, what am I?

First Ruf. Why, what thou wilt; a slave.

Second Ruf. Then take that, villain, and learn how thou use me another time. [Stabs First Ruf.

First Ruf. O, I am slain! [Dies.