He that lives within a mile of this place, had as good
sleep in the perpetual noyse of an Iron Mill. There's a dead Sea of drink
i'th' Seller, in which goodly vessels lye wrackt, and in the middle of
this deluge appear the tops of flagons and black jacks, like Churches
drown'd i'th' marshes.
_Yo. Lo._ What, art thou come? My sweet Sir _Amias_ welcome to _Troy_.
Come thou shalt kiss my _Helen_, and court her in a dance.
_Sav_. Good Sir consider?
_Yo. Lo_. Shall we consider Gentlemen? How say you?
_Capt_. Consider? that were a simple toy i'faith, consider? whose moral's
that? The man that cryes consider is our foe: let my steel know him.
_Young Lo_. Stay thy dead doing hand, he must not die yet: prethee be
calm my _Hector_.
_Capt_. Peasant slave, thou groom compos'd of grudgings, live and thank
this Gentleman, thou hadst seen _Pluto_ else. The next consider kills
thee.
_Trav_. Let him drink down his word again in a gallon of Sack.
_Poet_. 'Tis but a snuffe, make it two gallons, and let him doe it
kneeling in repentance.
_Savil_. Nay rather kill me, there's but a lay-man lost. Good Captain doe
your office.
_Young Lo_. Thou shalt drink Steward, drink and dance my Steward. Strike
him a horn-pipe squeakers, take thy striver, and pace her till she stew.
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