COB. Oh, my guest, sir, you mean?

MAT. Thy guest, alas! ha, ha.

COB. Why do you laugh, sir? do you not mean Signior Bobadilla?

MAT. Cob, I pray thee advise thyself well: do not wrong the
gentleman, and thyself too. I dare be sworn he scorns thy house;
he! he lodge in such a base obscure place as thy house? Tut, I
know his disposition so well, he would not lie in thy bed if
thou'dst give it him.

COB. I will not give it him. Mass, I thought somewhat was in it,
we could not get him to bed all night. Well sir, though he lie not
on my bed, he lies on my bench, an't please you to go up, sir, you
shall find him with two cushions under his head, and his cloak
wrapt about him, as though he had neither won nor lost, and yet I
warrant he ne'er cast better in his life than he hath done
to-night.

MAT. Why, was he drunk?

COB. Drunk, sir? you hear not me say so; perhaps he swallow'd a
tavern token, or some such device, sir; I have nothing to do
withal: I deal with water and not with wine. Give me my tankard
there, ho! God be with you, sir; it's six o'clock: I should have
carried two turns by this, what ho! my stopple, come.

MAT. Lie in a water-bearer's house, a gentleman of his note?