Bots. Will you fetch us wine?
Whore. And a whore, sirrah?
Drawer. Why, what d'ye think of me? am I an infidel, a Turk, a pagan, a Saracen? I have been at Bess Turnup's, and she swears all the gentlewomen went to see a play at the Fortune,[104] and are not come in yet, and she believes they sup with the players.
Tear. Damn me, we must kill all those rogues: we shall never keep a whore honest for them.
Bots. Go your ways, sirrah. We'll have but a gallon apiece, and an ounce of tobacco.
Drawer. I beseech you, let it be but pottles.[105]
Spill. 'Sheart! you rogue.
[Exit Drawer.
Enter Welltried and Lord Feesimple.
Whore. Master Welltried! welcome as my soul.
Enter Drawer, with wine, plate and tobacco.