_Sings this.
Then fill our heads with wine
Till every pate be drunk, then piss i'the street,
Jostle all you meet,
And swagger with a punk_—
As thou wilt do now and then: thank me, thy good master, that brought thee to it.
WEN. Nay, he profits well; but the worst is, he will not swear yet.
SCAR. Do not belie me: if there be any good in me, that's the best. Oaths are necessary for nothing; they pass out of a man's mouth, like smoke through a chimney, that files[384] all the way it goes.
WEN. Why then I think tobacco to be a kind of swearing; for it furs our nose pockily.
SCAR. But, come, let's drink ourselves into a stomach afore supper.
ILF. Agreed. I'll begin with a new health. Fill up.
_To them that make land fly,
By wines, whores, and a die:
To them that only thrives
By kissing others' wives:
To them that pay for clothes
With nothing but with oaths:
Care not from whom they get,
So they may be in debt.
This health, my hearts! [Drinks.
But who their tailors pay,
Borrow, and keep their day,
We'll hold him like this glass,
A brainless, empty ass,
And not a mate for us_.
Drink round, my hearts!
WEN. An excellent health.