Tobias. 'Twas high.
[Enter The Player, followed by Chiffin, the ballad-monger. He is abstracted and weary.]
Wat [lingering at the table].
I say, I've played.... There's not one man
Of all the gang—save one.... Ay, there be one
I grant you, now!... He used me in right sort;
A man worth better trades.
[Seeing The Player.]
—Lord love you, sir!
Why, this is you indeed. 'Tis a long day, sir,
Since I clapped eyes on you. But even now
Your name was on my tongue as pat as ale!
You see me off. We bait to-morrow, sir;
Will you come see? Nick's fresh, and every soul
As hot to see the fight as 'twere to be—
Man Daniel, baited with the lions!
Tobias. Sir,
'Tis high ... 'tis high.
Wat. We show him in the street
With dogs and all, ay, now, if you will see.
The Player.
Why, so I will. A show and I not there?
Bear it out bravely, Wat. High fortune, man!
Commend me to thy bear.
[Drinks and passes him the cup.]
Wat. Lord love you, sir!
'Twas ever so you gave a man godspeed....
And yet your spirits flag; you look but palely.
I'll take your kindness, thank ye.