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olution is proved recreant; the Countenance hath changed his copy; and the passionate knight is shedding funeral tears over his departed dog. CAR. What! is his dog dead? MACI. Poison'd, 'tis thought; marry, how, or by whom, that's left for some cunning woman here o' the Bank-side to resolve. For my part, I know nothing more than that we are like to have an exceeding melancholy supper of it. CAR. 'Slife, and I had purposed to be extraordinarily merry, I had drunk off a good preparative of old sack here; but will they come, will they come? MACI. They will assuredly come; marry, Carlo, as thou lov'st me, run over 'em all freely to-night, and especially the knight; spare no sulphurous jest that may come out of that sweaty forge of thine; but ply them with all manner of shot, minion, saker, culverin, or anything, what thou wilt. CAR. I warrant thee, my dear case of petrionels; so I stand not in dread of thee, but that thou'lt second me. MACI. Why, my good German tapster, I will. CAR. What George! Lomtero, Lomtero, etc. [SINGS AND DANCES. RE-ENTER GEORGE. GEORGE. Did you call, master Carlo? CAR. More nectar, George: Lomtero, etc. GEORGE. Your meat's ready, sir, an your company were come. CAR. Is the loin pork enough? GEORGE. Ay, sir, it is enough. [EXIT. MACI. Pork! heart, what dost thou with such a greasy dish? I think thou dost varnish thy face with the fat on't, it looks so like a glue-pot. CAR. True, my raw-boned rogue, and if thou wouldst farce thy lean ribs with it too, they would not, like ragged laths, rub out so many doublets as they do; but thou know'st not a good dish, thou. O, it's the only nourishing meat in the world. No marvel though that saucy, stubborn generation, the Jews, were forbidden it; for what would they have done, well pamper'd with fat pork, that durst murmur at their Maker out of garlick and onions? 'Slight! fed with it, the whoreson strummel-patch'd, goggle-eyed grumble-dories, would have gigantomachised -- RE-ENTER GEORGE WITH WINE. Well said, my sweet George, fill, fill. MIT. This savours too much of profanation. COR. O -- -- Servetur ad imum, Qualis ab incoepto processerit, et sibi constet. "The necessity of his vein compels a toleration, for; bar this, and dash him out of humour before his time." CAR.
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