olution is proved recreant; the Countenance hath
changed his copy; and the passionate knight is shedding funeral tears over
his departed dog.

CAR. What! is his dog dead?

MACI. Poison'd, 'tis thought; marry, how, or by whom, that's left for some
cunning woman here o' the Bank-side to resolve. For my part, I know
nothing more than that we are like to have an exceeding melancholy supper
of it.

CAR. 'Slife, and I had purposed to be extraordinarily merry, I had drunk
off a good preparative of old sack here; but will they come, will they come?

MACI. They will assuredly come; marry, Carlo, as thou lov'st me, run over
'em all freely to-night, and especially the knight; spare no sulphurous
jest that may come out of that sweaty forge of thine; but ply them with all
manner of shot, minion, saker, culverin, or anything, what thou wilt.

CAR. I warrant thee, my dear case of petrionels; so I stand not in dread
of thee, but that thou'lt second me.

MACI. Why, my good German tapster, I will.

CAR. What George! Lomtero, Lomtero, etc.
[SINGS AND DANCES.

RE-ENTER GEORGE.
GEORGE. Did you call, master Carlo?

CAR. More nectar, George: Lomtero, etc.

GEORGE. Your meat's ready, sir, an your company were come.

CAR. Is the loin pork enough?

GEORGE. Ay, sir, it is enough.
[EXIT.

MACI. Pork! heart, what dost thou with such a greasy dish? I think thou
dost varnish thy face with the fat on't, it looks so like a glue-pot.

CAR. True, my raw-boned rogue, and if thou wouldst farce thy lean ribs
with it too, they would not, like ragged laths, rub out so many doublets as
they do; but thou know'st not a good dish, thou. O, it's the only
nourishing meat in the world. No marvel though that saucy, stubborn
generation, the Jews, were forbidden it; for what would they have done,
well pamper'd with fat pork, that durst murmur at their Maker out of
garlick and onions? 'Slight! fed with it, the whoreson strummel-patch'd,
goggle-eyed grumble-dories, would have gigantomachised --
RE-ENTER GEORGE WITH WINE.
Well said, my sweet George, fill, fill.

MIT. This savours too much of profanation.

COR. O -- -- Servetur ad imum,
Qualis ab incoepto processerit, et sibi constet.
"The necessity of his vein compels a toleration, for; bar this, and dash
him out of humour before his time."

CAR.