FRAN. How mean'st thou? is he drunk?
BOY. I cannot tell; but I am sure he hath more liquor in him than a whole dicker of hides; he's soak'd throughly, i'faith.
FRAN. Well, go and call him; bid him bring me drink.
BOY. I will, sir.
[Exit.
FRAN. My mother pouts, and will look merrily
Neither upon my father nor on me:
He says she fell out with Mistress Barnes to-day;
Then I am sure they'll not be quickly friends.
Good Lord, what kind of creatures women are!
Their love is lightly[277] won and lightly lost;
And then their hate is deadly and extreme:
He that doth take a wife betakes himself
To all the cares and troubles of the world.
Now her disquietness doth grieve my father,
Grieves me, and troubles all the house besides.
What, shall I have some drink? [Horn sounded within]—How now? a horn!
Belike the drunken knave is fall'n asleep,
And now the boy doth wake him with his horn.
Enter BOY.
How now, sirrah, where's the butler?
BOY. Marry, sir, where he was even now, asleep; but I wak'd him, and when he wak'd he thought he was in Master Barnes's buttery, for he stretch'd himself thus, and yawning, said, "Nick, honest Nick, fill a fresh bowl of ale; stand to it, Nick, and thou beest a man of God's making, stand to it;" and then I winded my horn, and he's horn-mad.
Enter HODGE.
HOD. Boy, hey! ho, boy! and thou beest a man, draw.—O, here's a blessed moonshine, God be thanked!—Boy, is not this goodly weather for barley?