SCENE II.
Enter PRODIGALITY, POSTILION, and HOST.
PROD. Postilion, stay, thou drugg'st on like an ass.
Lo, here's an inn, which I cannot well pass:
Here will we bait, and rest ourselves awhile.
POST. Why, sir, you have to go but six small mile;
The way is fair, the moon shines very bright.
Best now go on, and then rest for all night.
PROD. Tush, Postil, fair or foul, or far or near,
My weary bones must needs be rested here.
POST. 'Tis but a paltry inn, there's no good cheer;
Yet shall you pay for all things passing dear.
PROD. I care not for all that: I love mine ease.
POST. Well, sir, a God's name, then do what you please.
PROD. Knock, then, at the gate.
POST. Ho, who's at home? hostler, chamberlain, tapster?
Ho! take in gentlemen. Knave, slave, host, hostess, ho!
[Rip, rap, rip, rap.
What, is there none that answers? Tout a la mort?
Sir, you must make entrance at some other port:
For here's no passage.