An alehouse bower. Enter Mris. Maquerell, Justice Wagstaffe, Sir John Fitz-ale, Captain Exceptious Quarrellsome, Sir Fastidious Overween, the sowgelder, and Sir Hugh the vicar, myrmidons.
Justice Wagstaffe. Mother Margery, a merry revell to you! I am come to see you according to custome.
Margery. I thanke your worship. You are my old guest and acquaintance, and that does stand my friend with the excisemen.
Sir Fastidious. Prithee, give us a cup of the best revell ale. We are come to drinke not less then 1000 of ale before we goe.
Justice Wagstaffe (sings).
Come, fill us a 1000 jugges, etc.
Margery (curtsies). Mr. Justice Wagstaffe, a good health to your worship!
Wagstaffe. I thanke thee, Margery.—How doest doe Peg[CIV.]? First, I must have a kisse. Come, let's fancy her 1/2 a crowne a piece. She's a good-natured girle.—[They give.]
[CIV.] Peg, her mayd or daughter.
Sir John Fitz-ale. Sir Hugh, drink to the king's health. [Sir Hugh takes off his glasse super naculum.]
Sir J. Fitz-ale. Bravely done, parson!—a true spunge of the Church of England, i' faith.
Sir Hugh. I'm one of the old red-nosd clergy, orthodox and canonicall.
Sir J. Fitz-ale. You helpe solemnize the revell.
<In MS. Aubr. 21, p. 20, Aubrey jots down an anecdote for use here 'All the parsons herabout,' in Wiltshire, 'are alehouse-hunters. J<ames> L<ong>, esq., hunted Sir Hugh driefoote to the alehouse with his pack of hounds to the great griefe of the revered divine.'>