for his halfe souse or his denier ..."

Jack goes on irrepressible, overflowing; it is his best moment; he does
not want the sport to end too quickly: "Why, you are everie childs
felow: any man that comes under the name of a souldier and a good
fellowe, you will sitte and beare companie to the last pot, yea, and you
take in as good part the homely phrase of: 'Mine host heeres to you,' as
if one saluted you by all the titles of your baronie. These
considerations, I saie, which the world suffers to slip by in the
channell of carelesnes, have moved me in ardent zeale of your welfare,
to forewarne you of some dangers that have beset you and your barrels.

"At the name of dangers hee start up, and bounst with his fist on the
boord so hard, that his tapster overhearing him cried: 'Anon! anon!
sir,' and entering with a bow askt him what he wanted.

"Hee was readie to have stricken his tapster for interrupting him in
attention of this his so much desired relation, but for feare of
displeasing me he moderated his furie, and onely sending him for the
other fresh pint, wild him looke to the barre, and come when he is cald
with a devilles name.

"Well, at his earnest importunitie, after I had moistned my lips, to
make my lie run glib to his journies end, forward I went as followeth
..." And the good apostle stops again; the cider and his own words have
moved him; he is a little fuddled, so is mine host; they both fall to
weeping. The innkeeper is ready to believe anything, and at this moment,
which is the right one the page at length determines to inform him that
in an assembly where he was present, he heard mine host, the purveyor of
the camp, accused of connivance with the enemy, by giving information to
the besieged through letters hidden in his empty barrels. High treason
is suspected! How are these dangerous rumours to be dissipated? There is
only one way of doing it, that is in becoming popular in the army, very
popular; he must make himself beloved by all; he must distribute cider
freely and for a time suppress in his shop the unbecoming custom of
paying.

The victualler follows this advice, but soon the trick is discovered;
the page is roundly whipped, but being to the core a true picaroon,
Wilton does not for all that feel his spirit in any way lessened: "Here
let me triumph a while, and ruminate a line or two on the excellence of
my wit!" This is all the sorrow and repentance the whip extracts from
him.

Shakespear