How now? fie, sit in the open room? now, good Sir
Lancelot, & my kind friend worshipful Master
Weathercock! What, at your pint? a quart for shame.

LANCELOT.
Nay, Royster, by your leave we will away.

FLOWERDALE.
Come, give's some Music, we'll go dance. Begone,
Sir Lancelot? what, and fair day too?

LUCY.
Twere foully done, to dance within the fair.

FLOWERDALE.
Nay, if you say so, fairest of all fairs, then I'll not dance.
A pox upon my tailor, he hath spoiled me a peach colour
satin shirt, cut upon cloth of silver, but if ever the rascal
serve me such another trick, I'll give him leave, yfaith, to
put me in the calendar of fools: and you, and you, Sir
Lancelot and Master Weathercock. My goldsmith too, on
tother side--I bespoke thee, Lucy, a carkenet of gold, and
thought thou shouldst a had it for a fairing, and the rogue
puts me in rearages for Orient Pearl: but thou shalt have it
by Sunday night, wench.

[Enter the Drawer.]

DRAWER.
Sir, here is one hath sent you a pottle of rennish wine, brewed