Spend. Here, sister, mother, and Master Pursenet: nay, good sir, be not so dejected; for, by this wine, to-morrow I will send you stuff for a new suit, and as much as shall line you a cloak clean through.
Purse. I thank you, and shall study to deserve——
Spend. Here, boy, fill, and hang that curmudgeon, that's good for nobody but himself.
Purse. Heroicly spoken, by this candle! 'tis pity thou wert not made a lord.
Spend. A lord? by this light, I do not think but to be Lord Mayor of London before I die, and have three pageants carried before me, besides a ship and an unicorn. 'Prentices may pray for that time; for whenever it happens, I will make another Shrove Tuesday[162] for them.
Enter Drawer.
Drawer. Young Master Rash has sent you a quart of Malaga[163].
Spend. Master Rash! zounds! how does he know that I am here?
Drawer. Nay, I know not, sir.