GLO. A tavern?
Then I will turn prodigal; call for a pint
Of sack, good fellow.
PUR. Drawer!
DRA. [Within.] Anon, sir.
Enter DRAWER.
GLO. A pint of thy best sack, my pretty youth.
DRA. God bless your worship, sir;
Ye shall have the best in London, sir.
GLO. What, know'st thou me I know'st thou old Fauconbridge?
I am no tavern-h[a]unter, I can tell thee.
DRA. But my master hath taken many a fair pound
Of your man Block; he was here to-day, sir,
And emptied[500] two bottles of nippitate[501] sack.
GLO. Well, fill us of your nippitate, sir;
This is well chanced. But hear[502] ye, boy!
Bring sugar in white paper, not in brown;
For in white paper I have here a trick,
Shall make the pursuivant first swoon, then sick. [Aside.
Thou honest fellow, what's thy name?
PUR. My name is Winterborne, sir.