_Mus_. This is your bountifull Captaine! a rope of his bounsing! But stay, lets play to the steward; it may be when he wakes we may worke him to't.
_Omnes_. Content, content. [_Musike softe_.
_Lov_. Umh[88], play a healthe: soe; say, it shall goe rounde: goe to, I say and I sayt, it shall goe round. Umh, where is this fidle? in the ayre? I can perceave nothing. Where is my kinde friend and my fine companion? come, we will be friends again; goe to, we will. Umh, plaistered and bound up? bloody? how comes this? goe too and goe to; if I have done any mischiefe or bene over valiant in my drinke to kill a man or soe, why 'twas in my drinke, not I, and let my drinke be hangd for't; or, I say and I sayt, let um stay till I am drunke againe and then hange me; I care not, I shall not be sensible of it. Oh this sack! it makes a coward a _Hector_: the _Greekes_ and _Troians_ drinke no other; and that and a wench (for theres the divell out) made um cuffe ten yeares together, till at length when they had bled more than they coulde drinke they grew sober, the contented Cuckold tooke his wife home againe and all were good frends[89]. [_Sease Musicke_] But stay, the musikes husht; I hope theyle appeare; I doe feale no such paine in my wounds that I had need of musicke to bring me to sleepe. Blesse me whose this? ha[90]!
_Grimes_. How does your worshipp? Mr. Steward, dee feele your selfe at ease? I am hartely sorry for your misfortune?
_Lov_. Misfortune? ha, what misfortune? now heaven and't be thy will--
_Lov_. Ha, alive? in the name of drinke what have I don? where did you find me, ha?
_Grimes_. Why, sir, comming out--umh, umh--
_Grimes_. I, and tis well your worships out.
_Lov_. Noe, noe, it had bin better had I never gon in; but on, on.
_Grimes_. You were, sir,--as they say, sir--you had gotten a Cup to much.
_Lov_. Hang Cupps, my friend excepted; goe to; speake plaine; I was drunke was I?
_Grimes_. Yes, sir; you were not able to stand when you came out, sir?
_Lov_. Out of the Bawdy-house? I beleave thee; nay, I am a right _Lovell_ I, I look like a shotten herring now for't. _Jone's_ as good as my lady in the darke wee me. I have no more Roe than a goose in me; but on to the mischiefe, on.