HOD. O, in a well.

COOMES. In a well, man! nay, then, thou art deep in understanding.

FRAN. Ay, once to-day you were almost so, sir.

COOMES. Who, I! go to, young master, I do not like this humour in ye, I
tell ye true; give every man his due, and give him no more: say I was
in such a case! go to, 'tis the greatest indignation that can be offered
to a man; and, but a man's more godlier given, you were able to make him
swear out his heart-blood. What, though that honest Hodge have cut his
finger here, or, as some say, cut a feather: what, though he be mump,
misled, blind, or as it were--'tis no consequent to me: you know I have
drunk all the ale-houses in Abington dry, and laid the taps on the
tables, when I had done: 'sblood, I'll challenge all the true rob-pots
in Europe to leap up to the chin in a barrel of beer, and if I cannot
drink it down to my foot, ere I leave, and then set the tap in the midst
of the house, and then turn a good turn on the toe on it, let me be
counted nobody, a pingler,[281]--nay, let me be[282] bound to drink
nothing but small-beer seven years after--and I had as lief be hanged.

_Enter_ NICHOLAS.

FRAN. Peace, sir, I must speak with one.--
Nicholas, I think, your name is.

NlCH. True as the skin between your brows.

FRAN. Well, how doth thy master?

NlCH. Forsooth, live, and the best doth no better.

FRAN. Where is the letter he hath sent me?

NlCH. _Ecce signum_! here it is.

FRAN. 'Tis right as Philip said, 'tis a fine fool [_Aside_].
--This letter is directed to my father;
I'll carry it to him. Dick Coomes, make him drink.
[_Exit_.

COOMES. Ay, I'll make him drunk,[283] and he will.

NICH. Not so, Richard; it is good to be merry and wise.

DICK[284] [COOMES]. Well, Nicholas, as thou art Nicholas, welcome; but
as thou art Nicholas and a boon companion, ten times welcome. Nicholas,
give me thy hand: shall we be merry? and we shall, say but we shall, and
let the first word stand.

NICH. Indeed, as long lives the merry man as the sad; an ounce of debt
will not pay a pound of care.

COOMES. Nay, a pound of care will not pay an ounce of debt.

NICH. Well, 'tis a good horse never stumbles: but who lies here?

COOMES. 'Tis our Hodge, and I think he lies asleep: you made him drunk
at your house to-day; but I'll pepper some of you for't.

NICH. Ay, Richard, I know you'll put a man over the shoes, and if you
can