Whore. Will not you pledge these healths, Master Welltried? we'll have no observers.
Well. Why, Monsieur Whorebang? I am no playmaker[108], and, for pledging your healths, I love none of the four you drank to so well.
Spill. Zounds! you shall pledge me this.
Well. Shall I?
Fee. What's the matter? dost hear, Master Welltried, use thine own discretion; if thou wilt not pledge him, say so, and let me see if e'er a damn-me of 'em all will force thee.
Spill. Puff! will your lordship take any tobacco? you lord with the white face.
Bots. Heart! he cannot put it through his nose.
Fee. Faith, you have ne'er a nose to put it through; d'ye hear I blow your face, sirrah.
Tear. You'll pledge me, sir?
Well. Indeed, I will not.