Spend. Know not! it comes through you and your rascally glib-tongued companions. 'Tis my master's son: a fine gentleman he is, and a boon companion: I must go see him.
[Exit Spendall.
Sweat. Boy, fill us a cup of your malaga, we'll drink to Master Spendall in his absence: there's not a finer spirit of a citizen within the walls. Here, Master Pursenet, you shall pledge him.
Purse. I'll not refuse it, were it puddle: by Styx, he is a bountiful gentleman, and I shall report him so. Here, Mistress Tickleman, shall I charge you?
Tickle. Do your worst, serjeant: I'll pledge my young Spendall a whole sea, as they say: fa, la, la, la, la! Would the music were here again; I do begin to be wanton. Ipocras, sirrah, and a dry biscuit! Here, bawd, a carouse!
Sweat. Bawd, i' faith! you begin to grow light i' the head. I pray no more such words; for, if you do, I shall grow into distempers.
Tickle. Distempers! hang your distempers; be angry with me, and thou dar'st. I pray, who feeds you, but I? who keeps thy feather-beds from the brokers, but I? 'tis not your sausage-face, thick, clouted[164] cream-rampallion[165] at home, that snuffles in the nose like a decayed bagpipe.
Purse. Nay, sweet Mistress Tickleman, be concordant; reverence antiquity.
Enter Rash, Longfield, and Spendall.
Rash. Save you, sweet creatures of beauty, save you: how now, old Beelzebub, how dost thou?
Sweat. Beelzebub! Beelzebub in thy face!