for the table,
And see the bride-bed made, and looke the cords be
Not cut asunder by the Gallants too,
There be such knacks abroad; hark hither, _Lilly_,
To morrow night at twelve a clock, Ile suppe w'ye,
Your husband shall be safe, Ile send ye meat too,
Before I cannot well slip from my company.

_And_. Will ye so, will you so, Sir? Ile make one to eate it,
I may chance make you stagger too. _Bri_. No answer, _Lilly_?

_Lil_. One word about the linnen; Ile be ready,
And rest your worships still. _And_. And Ile rest w'yee,
You shall see what rest 'twill be: Are ye so nimble?
A man had need have ten paire of eares to watch you.

_Bri_. Wait on your Master, for I know he wants ye,
And keep him in his studie, that the noise
Do not molest him: I will not faile my _Lilly_--
Come in sweet hearts, all to their several duties. _Exeunt._

_And_. are you kissing ripe, Sir? Double but my farm
And kisse her till thy heart ake; these smocke vermin,
How eagerly they leap at old mens kisses,
They lick their lipps at profit, not at pleasure;
And if't were not for th' scurvie name of Cuckold,
He should lye with her, I know shee'l labour at length
With a good lordship. If he had a wife now,
But that's all one, lie fit him: I must up
Unto my Master, hee'l be mad with studie-- _Exit_.

_Actus III_. _Scoena III_.

Charles.

What a noise is in this house, my head is broken,
Within a Parenthesis, in every corner,
As if the earth were shaken with some strange Collect,
There are stirres and motions. What Planet rules this house?

_Enter_ Andrew.

Who's there? _And_. Tis I Sir faithful _Andrew_. _Cha_. Come neere
And lay thine eare downe, hear'st no noise? _And_. The Cookes
Are chopping hearbs and mince meat to make pies,
And breaking Marrow-bones-- _Char_. Can they set them againe?

_And_. Yes, yes, in brothes and puddings, and they grow stronger
For the' use of any man. _Cha_. What speaking's that?
Sure there is a massacre. _And_. Of Pigs and Geese Sir,
And Turkeys for the spit. The Cookes are angry Sirs,
And that makes up the medly. _Cha_. Do they thus
At every dinner? I nere mark'd them yet,
Nor know who is a Cook. _And_. Th'are sometimes sober,
And then they beat as gently as a Tabor.

_Char_. What loads are these? _Andr_. Meat, meat, Sir, for the Kitchin,
And stinking Fowles the Tenants have sent in;
They'l nere be found out at a general eating;
And there's fat Venison, Sir. _C