nt. [_Exit_ Marall.
I do love thee, Furnace,
E'en as I do malmsey in a morning.
Think of pye-corner, Furnace!

[_Exeunt_ Sir Giles _and_ Greedy.

_Watch._ Will you out, sir?
I wonder how you durst creep in.

_Order._ This is rudeness,
And saucy impudence.

_Amble._ Cannot you stay
To be serv'd among your fellows from the basket,
But you must press into the hall?

_Fur._ Pr'ythee, vanish
Into some outhouse, though it be the pigsty;
My scullion shall come to thee.

_Enter_ Allworth.

_Wellb._ This is rare:
Oh, here is Tom Allworth! Tom!

_Allw._ We must be strangers;
Nor would I have seen you here for a million.

[_Exit._

_Wellb._ Better and better. He contemns me too.

_Enter_ Woman _and_ Chambermaid.

_Woman._ Oh! what a smell's here? What thing is this?

_Cham._ Oh! a filthy creature!
Let us hence, for love's sake, or I shall swoon!

_Woman._ I begin to faint, too. [_Exeunt._

_Watch._ Will you know your way?

_Amble._ Or shall we teach it you,
By the head and shoulders?

_Wellb._ No; I will not stir:
Do you mark, I will not. Let me see the wretch
That dares attempt to force me. Why, you slaves
Created only to make legs, and cringe;
To carry in a dish, and shift a trencher;
That have not souls to hope a blessing
Beyond your master's leavings; you that were born
Only to consume meat and drink;
Who advances? Who shows me the way?

_Order._ Here comes my lady.

_Enter_ Lady Allworth.

_Lady A._ What noise is this?

_Wellb._ Madam, my designs bear me to you.

_Lady A._ To me?

_Wellb._ And though I have met with
But ragged entertainment from your groom here,
I hope from you to receive that noble usage,
As may become the true friend of your husband;
And then I shall forget these.

_Lady A._ I am amaz'd,
To see and hear this rudeness. Dar'st thou think,
Though sworn, that it can ever find belief,
That I, who to the best men of this country
Denied my presence since my husband's death,
Can fall so low as to change words with thee?

_Wellb._ Scorn me not, good lady;
But, as in form you are angelical,
Imitate the heavenly natures, and vouchsafe
At least awhile to hear me. You will grant,
The blood that runs in this arm is as noble
As that which fills your veins; your swelling titles,
Equipage and fortune; your men's observance,
And women's flattery, are in you no virtues;
Nor these rags, with my poverty, in me vices.
You have a fair fame, and, I know, deserve it;
Yet, lady,