_4 C._ The Devil take the Deer, I say; he led us a Chace of six Hours, and got away from us at last.
_1 K._ Zoons! ye Dogs, do ye think to banter us? I tell ye you have this Night shot one of the King's Deer; did not we hear the Gun go off? Did not we hear you say, you was afraid it should be taken from you?
_2 C._ We were afraid our Money should be taken from us.
_1 K._ Come, come, no more shuffling: I tell ye, you're all Rogues, and we'll have you hanged, you may depend on't. Come, let's take 'em to old _Cockle_'s, we're not far off, we'll keep 'em there all Night, and To-morrow-morning we'll away with 'em before the Justice.
_4 C._ A very pretty Adventure. [_Exeunt._
KING, MILLER, MARGERY, _and_ DICK, _at Supper_.
_Mil._ Come, Sir, you must mend a bad Supper with a Glass of good Ale: Here's King _Harry_'s Health.
_King._ With all my Heart. Come, _Richard_, here's King _Harry_'s Health; I hope you are Courtier enough to pledge me, are not you?
_Dick._ Yes, yes, Sir, I'll drink the King's Health with all my Heart.
_Mar._ Come, Sir, my humble Service to you, and much good may do ye with your poor Supper; I wish it had been better.
_Marg._ We are oblig'd to your Goodness in excusing our Rudeness.
_Mil._ Prithee, _Margery_, don't trouble the Gentleman with Compliments.
_Mar._ Lord, Husband, if one had no more Manners than you, the Gentleman would take us all for Hogs.
_Dick._ Now I think the more Compliments the less Manners.
_King._ I think so too. Compliments in Discourse, I believe, are like Ceremonies in Religion; the one has destroy'd all true Piety, and the other all Sincerity and Plain-dealing.
_Mil._ Then a Fig for all Ceremony and Compliments too: Give us thy Hand; and let us drink and be merry.
_King._ Right, honest Miller, let us drink and be merry. Come, have you got e'er a good Song?
_Mil._ Ah! my singing Days are over, but my Man _Joe_ has got an excellent one; and if you have a Mind to hear it, I'll call him in.
_Mil._ Come, _Joe_, drink Boy; I have promised this Gentleman that you shall sing him your last new Song.
_Joe._ Well, Master, if you have promis'd it him, he shall have it.
_How happy a State does the Miller possess? Who wou'd be no greater, nor fears to be less; On his Mill and himself he depends for Support, Which is better than servilely cringing at Court._