_Suc_. I, and the Musicks like theires: come, Sirra, whoes your Poett?
_Crac_. Some mad wag, I warrant him: is this a new song?
_Mus_. Tis the first edition, sir: none else but we had ever coppie of it.
_Suc_. But you wilbe intreated to let a gent have it?
_Mus_. By no meanes; the author has sworne to the contrary, least it should grow so wonderous old and turne a Ballad.
_Crac_. Well said, Captain; the tother health, Captain: heres good wine, good Tobackoe, good everything: had we but a good wench or two twere excellent.
_Suc_. Great _Alexander_, does not dreame of this, I warrant yee.
_Grimes_. Oh, hees fast enough; heele be ready to cast up his accounts the easier when my lady calls him.
_Crac_. Come, come; who payes the Musicke? Captain, you have my purse.
_Suc_. Truths a truth from Infidell or Pagan: I am in trust, and that's beleife, and so it shalbe saved. Pay the Musick? umh, where are they? let me see, how many's of you, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6: good, can any of you daunce?
_Mus_. Daunce? Yes, sir, we can shake our legs or soe.
_Suc_. So said so don, brave ladd; come, letts have a daunce, some daunce and some play.
_Mus_. Anything to please you, noble Captaine.
_Suc_. Lively then, my hearts; some country Jigg or soe. Oh those playes that I have seene of youre, with their Jiggs[85] ith tayles of them[86] like your French forces! Death, I am a rorging (roaring?) boy; but, come, stir your shanks nimbly or Ile hough ye. Strike up there!
_Grimes_. Well don, my hearts; drinke, drinke.
_Suc_. With me, my fine treble knave? umh, thou dost tickle minikin as nimbly--
_Mus_. We hope your worship will consider our paines?
_Suc_. How, my fine knave? letts see, who were the dauncers?
_Mus_. Come forward there! nay, I told you he was ever bountifull: oh, good Captaine!
_Suc_. Let me see: I, thou art hart of vallor: thou didst daunce well, thou deservest--, I say no more: and who played?
_Suc_. You? well sayd; you plaid and you daunc'd, you say good; let me see, halfe a peece or--
_Suc_. You plaid, you say, and you dauncd: umh, well, why then you that dauncd must pay those that plaid.
_Suc_. Ever, ever, whilst you live, _Jarvice_;[87] the dauncers alwayes payes the musike. Wilt breake custome? No, or there a pawne for you. --Mr. Steward. Farewell. [_Exit_.