_Lov_. Against next quarter, landlord?

_Bib_. Of an hour, sir.

_Lov_. That's short warning, Will.

_Bib_. By this hand you shall up into the garret, where the
little bed is; I'll let my best room to a better pay-master: you know
the garret, sir?

_Franc_. Aye, he knows it, by a good token, husband.

_Lov_. I sweat to think of that garret, Will; thou art not so
unconscionable to put me there? Why, 'tis a kind of little ease[B], to
cramp thy rebellious prentices in; I have seen an usurer's iron chest
would hold two on't: A penny looking-glass cannot stand upright in
the window, that and the brush tills it: the hat-case must be disposed
under the bed, and the comb-case will hang down, from the ceiling to
the floor. If I chance to dine in my chamber, I must stay till I am
empty before I can get out: and if I chance to spill the chamber-pot,
it will overflow it from top to bottom.

[Footnote B: A kind of dungeon, so called from its construction.]

_Bib_. Well, for the description of the garret, I'll bate you
something of the bill.

_Lov_. All, all, good Will; or, to stay thy fury till my rents
come up, I will describe thy little face.