ACT I.



SCENE I.--A Tavern.


On one side SIR THOMAS CLIFFORD, at a table, with wine before him;
on the other, MASTER WILFORD, GAYLOVE, HOLDWELL, and SIMPSON,
likewise taking wine.

Wilf. Your wine, sirs! your wine! You do not justice to mine host
of the Three Tuns, nor credit to yourselves; I swear the beverage is
good! It is as palatable poison as you will purchase within a mile
round Ludgate! Drink, gentlemen; make free. You know I am a man of
expectations; and hold my money as light as the purse in which I
carry it.

Gay. We drink, Master Wilford. Not a man of us has been chased as
yet.

Wilf. But you fill not fairly, sirs! Look at my measure!
Wherefore a large glass, if not for a large draught? Fill, I pray
you, else let us drink out of thimbles! This will never do for the
friends of the nearest of kin to the wealthiest peer in Britain.

Gay. We give you joy, Master Wilford, of the prospect of