Mist. Mer. You shall not think, when all your own is gone, to spend that I have been scraping up for Michael.

Mer. Farewell, good wife; I expect it not: all I have to do in this world, is to be merry; which I shall, if the ground be not taken from me; and if it be, [Sings.

[Exeunt severally.

[Wife. I’ll be sworn he’s a merry old gentleman for all that. [Music.] Hark, hark, husband, hark! fiddles, fiddles! now surely they go finely. They say ’tis present death for these fiddlers, to tune their rebecks before the great Turk’s grace; it’s not, George? [Enter a Boy and dances.] But, look, look! here’s a youth dances!—Now, good youth, do a turn o’ the toe.—Sweetheart, i’faith, I’ll have Ralph come and do some of his gambols.—He’ll ride the wild mare, gentlemen, ’twould do your hearts good to see him.—I thank you, kind youth; pray, bid Ralph come.

Cit. Peace, cony!—Sirrah, you scurvy boy, bid the players send Ralph; or, by God’s——an they do not, I’ll tear some of their periwigs beside their heads: this is all riff-raff.]

[Exit Boy.