Sir quin. Shee’s an early sturrer, ah sirra.
Flash. Shee’l be a late sturrer soone at night sir.
Sir Quint. Goe too Peeter Flash, you haue a good sodaine flash of braine, your wittes husky, and no maruaile, for tis like one of our Comedians beardes, still ith stubble: about your busines, and looke you be nymble to flye from the wine, or the nymble wine will catch you by the nose.
Flash. If your wine play with my nose Sir, Ile knocke’s coxcombe.
Sir quin. Doe Peeter, and weare it for thy labour; Is my Sonne in Law Sir Walter Terell ready yet?
Omnes. Ready sir.
Exit another.
Sir Quin. One of you attend him: Stay Flash, where’s the note of the guestes you haue inuited?
Flash. Here Sir, Ile pull all your guestes out of my bosome; the men that will come, I haue crost, but all the Gentlewomen haue at the tayle of the last letter a pricke, because you may read them the better.
Sir quint. My spectacles, lyght, lyght, knaues: Sir Adam Prickshaft, thou hast crost him, heele come.