Enter Old Merry-thought.
Old Mer. "Nutmegs and ginger, cinnamon and cloves,
And they gave me this jolly red nose."
Mist. Mer. If you would consider your estate, you would have little list to sing, I wis.
Old Mer. It should never be considered, while it were an estate, if I thought it would spoil my singing.
Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou do, Charles? Thou art an old man, and thou canst not work, and thou hast not forty shillings left, and thou eatest good meat, and drinkest good drink, and laughest?
Old Mer. And will do.
Mist. Mer. But how wilt thou come by it, Charles?
Old Mer. How? Why how have I done hitherto these forty years? I never came into my dining-room, but at eleven and six o'clock I found excellent meat and drink o' th' table. My clothes were never worn out, but next morning a tailor brought me a new suit, and without question it will be so ever! Use makes perfectness; if all should fail, it is but a little straining myself extraordinary, and laugh myself to death.
Wife. It's a foolish old man this: is not he, George?