Smug. Banks, your ale is as a Philistine fox; nouns! there's fire i' th' tail on't; you are a rogue to charge us with mugs i' th' rearward; a plague of this wind! O, it tickles our catastrophe![271]
Sir John. Neighbour Banks of Waltham, and goodman Smug, the honest smith of Edmonton, as I dwell betwixt you both at Enfield, I know the taste of both your ale-houses; they are good both, smart both. Hem! grass and hay! we are all mortal; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.
Banks. Well said, Sir John, you are of the same humour still; and doth the water run the same way still, boy?
Smug. Vulcan was a rogue to him; Sir John, lock, lock, lock fast, Sir John; so, Sir John. I'll one' of these years, when it shall please the goddesses and the destinies, be drunk in your company; that's all now, and God send us health. Shall I swear I love you?
Sir John. No oaths, no oaths, good neighbour Smug. We'll wet our lips together, and hug; Carouse in private, and elevate the heart, and the liver, and the lights—and the lights, mark you me—within us: for, hem! grass and hay! we are all mortal; let's live till we die, and be merry; and there's an end.
Banks. But to our former motion about stealing some venison; whither go we?
Sir John. Into the forest, neighbour Banks: into Brian's walk, the mad-keeper.
Smug. Blood! I'll tickle your keeper.
Banks. I' faith, thou art always drunk when we have need of thee.
Smug. Need of me! heart! you shall have need of me always, while there is iron in an anvil.