RALPH.
Neither of either, as the Puritan bawd says. Slidd, I hear
Sam: Sam’s come, her’s! Tarry! come, yfaith, now my nose
itches for news.
OLIVER.
And so does mine elbow.
[Sam calls within. Where are you there?]
SAM. Boy, look you walk my horse with discretion; I have rid him simply. I warrant his skin sticks to his back with very heat: if a should catch cold and get the Cough of the Lungs I were well served, were I not?
[Enter Sam. Furnisht with things from London.]
What, Ralph and Oliver.
AMBO. Honest fellow Sam, welcome, yfaith! what tricks hast thou brought from London?
SAM. You see I am hangd after the truest fashion: three hats, and two glasses, bobbing upon em, two rebato wires upon my breast, a capcase by my side, a brush at my back, an Almanack in my pocket, and three ballats in my Codpiece: nay, I am the true picture of a Common servingman.
OLIVER.
I’ll swear thou art. Thou mayest set up when thou wilt.
There’s many a one begins with less, I can tell thee, that
proves a rich man ere he dies. But what’s the news from
London, Sam?
RALPH.
Aye, that’s well said; what’s the news from London, Sirrah?
My young mistress keeps such a puling for her love.