days;
no bit nor memory of what thou wert, no not the Wart upon thy Nose
there, shall be e're heard of more; go take possession, and bring thy
Children down, to rost like Rabbets, they love young Toasts and Butter,
_Bow-bell_ Suckers; as they love mischief, and hate Law, they are
Cannibals; bring down thy kindred too, that be not fruitful, there be
those Mandrakes that will mollifie 'em, go take possession. I'le go to
my Chamber, afore Boy go. [_Exeunt._

_Mer._ He's mad sure.

_Unc._ He's half drunk sure: and yet I like this unwillingness to
lose it, this looking back.

_Mer._ Yes, if he did it handsomely, but he's so harsh and strange.

_Unc._ Believe it 'tis his drink, Sir, and I am glad his drink has
thrust it out.

_Mer._ Cannibals? if ever I come to view his Regiment, if fair
terms may be had.

_Unc._ He tells you true, Sir, they are a bunch of the most
boisterous Rascals disorder ever made, let 'em be mad once, the power of
the whole Country cannot cool 'em, be patient but a while.

_Mer._ As long as you will, Sir, before I buy a bargain of such
Runts, I'le buy a Colledge for Bears, and live among 'em.

_Enter_ Francisco, Lance, _Boy with a Torch_.

_Fran._ How dost thou now?

_Lan._ Better than I was, and straighter, but my head's a Hogshead
still, it rowls and tumbles.

_Fran._ Thou wert cruelly paid.

_Lan._ I may live to requite it, put a Snaffle of Sack in my mouth
and then ride me very well.

_Fran._ 'Twas all but sport, I'le tell thee what I mean now, I mean
to see this Wench.

_Lan._ Where a Devil is she? and there were two, 'twere better.

_Fran._ Dost thou hear the Bell ring?

_Lan._ Yes, yes.

_Fran._ Then she comes to prayers, early each morning thither: Now
if I could but meet her, for I am of another mettle now.

_Enter_ Isabel, _and_ Shorthose _with a Torch_.

_Lan._ What light's yon?

_Fran._ Ha, 'tis a light, take her by the hand and court her.

_Lan._ Take her below the girdle, you'l never speed else, it comes
on this way still, oh that I had but such an opportunity in a Saw-pit,
how it comes on, comes on! 'tis here.

_Fran._ 'Tis she: fortune I kiss thy hand--Good morrow Lady.

_Isa._ What voice is that, Sirra, do you sleep as you go, 'tis he,
I am glad on't. Why, _Shorthose_?

_Short._ Yes forsooth, I was dreamt, I was going to Church.

_Lan._ She sees you as plain as I do.

_Isab._ Hold the torch up.

_Short._ Here's nothing but a stall, and a Butcher's D