Not lumperdy-clumperdy, like our spaniel Rig.
Truepenny. Marry, then, prick-me-dainty; come, toast me a fig.
Who shall then know our Tib Talkapace, trow ye?
An. Alyface. And why not Annot Alyface as fine as she?
Truepenny. And what, had Tom Truepenny a father or none?
An. Alyface. Then our pretty new-come-man will look to be one.
Truepenny. We four, I trust, shall be a jolly merry knot.
Shall we sing a fit[100] to welcome our friend, Annot?
An. Alyface. Perchance, he cannot sing.
D. Dough. I am at all assays.