_Meg._ 'Tis come, 'tis come.

_Mawd._ Where hath it all this while beene?

_Meg._ Some
Delay hath kept it, now 'tis here,
For bottles next of wine and beere,
The Merchants cellers they shall pay for't.

_Mrs. Gener._ Well,
What sod or rost meat more, pray tell.

_Good. Dick._ Pul for the Poultry, Foule, and Fish,
For emptie shall not be a dish.

_Robin._ A pox take them, must only they feed upon hot meat, and I
upon nothing but cold sallads.

_Mrs. Gener._ This meat is tedious, now some Farie,
Fetch what belongs unto the Dairie,

_Mal._ Thats Butter, Milk, Whey, Curds and Cheese,
Wee nothing by the bargaine leese.

_All._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Goody Dickison._ Boy, theres meat for you.

_Boy._ Thanke you.