Sit Arth. O, we stayed for you, sir.
Cud. Only my horse wanted a shoe, sir; but we shall make you amends ere we part.
Sir Arth. Ay? well said; make ’em drink ere they begin.
Enter Servants with beer.
Cud. A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my horse; he’ll mount the better. Nay, give me: I must drink to him, he’ll not pledge else. [Drinks.] Here, Hobby [Holds the bowl to the Hobby-horse.]—I pray you: no? not drink! You see, gentlemen, we can but bring our horse to the water; he may choose whether he’ll drink or no. [Drinks again.
Som. A good moral made plain by history.
1st Cl. Strike up, Father Sawgut, strike up.
Saw. E’en when you will, children. [Cuddy mounts the Hobby.]—Now in the name of—the best foot forward! [Endeavours to play, but the fiddle gives no sound.]—How now! not a word in thy guts? I think, children, my instrument has caught cold on the sudden.
Cud. [Aside.] My ningle’s knavery; black Tom’s doing.