_Bib_. I had too much of that last night; I was a little
disguised, as they say.

_Fail_. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed
thy face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber.

_Bib_. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale;
great hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of
all things in nature.

_Burr, rising_.] And of all things in nature I love it best.

_Bib_. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy?

_Burr_. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself.

_Bib_. Ha, ha, boy.

_Fail_. This porter brings sad news to you, Will; you must
trust him for a suit of clothes, as bad as 'tis: Come, he's an honest
fellow, and loves the king.

_Bib_. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him.

_Burr_. I grant your suit, sir.

_Fail_. Burr, make haste and dress you; Sir Timorous dines here
to-day: you know him?