Cassio. Is your Englishmen so exquisite in his drinking?
Iago. Why, he drinkes you with facillitie, your Dane
dead drunke. He sweates not to ouerthrow your Almaine.
He giues your Hollander a vomit, ere the next
Pottle can be fill'd

Cas. To the health of our Generall

Mon. I am for it Lieutenant: and Ile do you Iustice

Iago. Oh sweet England.
King Stephen was anda worthy Peere,
His Breeches cost him but a Crowne,
He held them Six pence all to deere,
With that he cal'd the Tailor Lowne:
He was a wight of high Renowne,
And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis Pride that pulls the Country downe,
And take thy awl'd Cloake about thee.
Some Wine hoa

Cassio. Why this is a more exquisite Song then the other

Iago. Will you heare't againe?
Cas. No: for I hold him to be vnworthy of his Place,
that do's those things. Well: heau'ns aboue all: and
there be soules must be saued, and there be soules must
not be saued