Sir To. 'Shall I bid him go, and spare not?'
Clo. 'O [no, no, no, no], you dare not.'
Sir To. Out o' [tune, sir]: ye lie. [Art] any more than a
steward? Dost thou think, because thou art virtuous,
there shall be no more cakes and ale?
Clo. Yes, by Saint Anne, and ginger shall be hot i'
the mouth too.
Sir To. [Thou'rt] i' the right. Go, sir, rub your [chain]
with crums. A [stoup] of wine, Maria!