Or lingringly his lungs consumes;
Or meets with achés in the bone,
Or catarrhs, or griping stone:
But contented lives by aye,
The more he laughs, the more he may."
Wife. Look, George. How say'st thou by this, George? Is't not a fine old man? Now God's blessing a thy sweet lips. When wilt thou be so merry, George? Faith, thou art the frowningst little thing, when thou art angry, in a country.
Enter Merchant.
Cit. Peace, coney; thou shalt see him took down too, I warrant thee. Here's Luce's father come now.
Old Mer. "As you came from Walsingham,
From the Holy Land,