_Enter_ WELCOME.
WEL. Ay, ay, 'tis the rich face that keeps us from poverty. If
the tailor's countenance were in fashion now, and all that had
fiery faces were counted comets, what a decay would there be
amongst our houses of good fellowship. How our cans would rot
and jugs grow musty for want of use! I would the whole city
were jugs and cans, that they might never be in good case but
when they're full of good liquor. I fear this will be a bad
year for all of our profession; salt meats are grown out of
fashion, and Lent will be forgotten this year, and, for aught I
know, the next Papist that's drunk may make the people condemn
it for superstition because he uses it. Forbid, thou who ever
art patron of good fellowship!
_Enter_ BUNG.
BUNG. [_To some one within._] I'll be with you presently.
Master, can you give me a groat and sixpence for a twopence.
WEL. Who is't for?
BUNG. For a couple of strangers i' th' King's Head; they have
sat preaching this two hours over two cans, and called me rogue
and rascal for not giving attendance, and setting a chamber-pot
for 'um. They've twopence to pay.
WEL. Then thou'dst have me give 'um eightpence to be gone, ha!
BUNG. A groat and twopence for a sixpence, I mean.
WEL. There 'tis; go, be nimble. [_Exit_ BUNG.] We have had but
small takings to-day; men have got the squincy or stopping of
the throat, I think--they drink so slowly. May it turn to the
dropsy, that they may never be weary of drinking, but that
every draught may but make room for two more! 'Twill never be
a good world while there's any but Welsh taverns, such as sell
nothing but ale and tobacco; these French and Spanish ones will
be the undoing of us all; men are grown such dottrels, that
they had rather give five or six shillings to be drunk, like
the Spaniard, with canary, or the Frenchman, with claret, than
so many pence to be foxed with their own native beer.
_Enter_ BUNG.
BUNG. O master, master, yonder's Ditty and Budget come in with
two doxies! Ditty swears he'll have one of 'um, though she
cuckold him the first night, and clap a pair of horns upon his
head, that will confine him to his chamber till rutting-time
come, and he shed 'um.
WEL. Who are they which they're enamoured so with?
BUNG. The one's Nancy Curds and the other Hanna Jenniting;
Ditty and Jenniting are agreed already; now, if you'll go
promote Budget's suit, and make a conclusion between him and
Curds, the wedding will be kept at our house, and we shall,
besides the getting by the victuals, put off the barrel of sour
beer by and by. [_Exit._
WEL. Well said, Bung: the crafti'st knave alive! I should be
glad to see both Budget and Ditty in the way of multiplying;
all their progeny cannot choose but be friends to the black
pot, and will be notable tipplers, I warrant 'um, as soon as
they come to the sucking-bottle. I'll go myself and contract
'um. [_Exit._