and
when he wak'd he thought he was in Master Barnes's buttery, for he
stretch'd himself thus, and yawning, said, "Nick, honest Nick, fill a
fresh bowl of ale; stand to it, Nick, and thou beest a man of God's
making, stand to it;" and then I winded my horn, and he's horn-mad.

_Enter_ HODGE.

HOD. Boy, hey! ho, boy! and thou beest a man, draw.--O, here's a blessed
moonshine, God be thanked!--Boy, is not this goodly weather for barley?

BOY. Spoken like a right malster, Hodge: but dost thou hear? thou art
not drunk?

HOD. No, I scorn that, i'faith.

BOY.[278] But thy fellow Dick Coomes is mightily drunk.

HOD. Drunk! a plague on it, when a man cannot carry his drink well!
'sblood, I'll stand to it.

BOY. Hold, man; see, and thou canst stand first.

HOD. Drunk! he's a beast, and he be drunk; there's no man that is a
sober man will be drunk; he's a boy, and he be drunk.

BOY. No, he's a man as thou art.

HOD. Thus 'tis, when a man will not be ruled by his friends: I bad him
keep under the lee, but he kept down the weather two bows; I told him he
would be taken with a planet, but the wisest of us all may fall.

BOY. True, Hodge. [_Boy trips him_.

HOD. Whoop! lend me thy hand, Dick, I am fall'n into a well; lend me thy
hand, I shall be drowned else.

BOY. Hold fast by the bucket, Hodge.

HOD. A rope on it!

BOY. Ay, there is a rope on it; but where art thou, Hodge?

HOD. In a well; I prythee, draw up.

BOY. Come, give up thy body; wind up, hoist

HOD. I am over head and ears.

BOY. In all, Hodge, in all.

FRAN. How loathsome is this beast-man's shape to me,
This mould of reason so unreasonable!--
Sirrah, why dost thou trip him down, seeing he's drunk?

BOY. Because, sir, I would have drunkards cheap.[279]

FRAN. How mean ye?

BOY. Why, they say that, when anything hath a fall, it is cheap; and so
of drunkards.

FRAN. Go to, help him up: [_Knocking without_] but, hark, who knocks?

[BOY _goes to the door, and returns_.]

BOY. Sir, here's one of Master Barnes's men with a letter to my old
master.

FRAN. Which of them is it?

BOY. They call him Nicholas, sir.

FRAN. Go, call him in.

[_Exit_ BOY.]

_Enter_ COOMES.

COOMES. By your leave, ho! How now, young master, how is't?

FRAN. Look ye, sirrah, where your fellow lies:
He's[280] in a fine taking, is he not?

COOMES. Whoop, Hodge! where art thou, man, where art thou?