_Non_. How now! what have you there, sirrah?
_Tob_. An't please your worship, 'tis my water. I had a spice
o'the new disease here i'the house; and so carried it to master
doctor.
_Non_. Well; and what did he say to you?
_Tob_. He told me very sad news, an' please you: I am somewhat
bashful to speak on't.
_Isa_. Out with it, man.
_Tob_. Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was
with child.
_Isa_. I told you so, uncle.
_Non_. To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing
before.
_Tob_. I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to
the heart of me.
_Isa_. Alas, poor Toby!
_Non_. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!--You shall not
stay a minute in my service.
_Tob_. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the
first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children
by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge
upon myself--
_Non_. Begone! I will not hear a word.
_Tob_. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook,
is as bad as I am.
_Non_. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I
must account with him on another score, now I think on't.
_Enter_ AMBROSE TINIS.
_Non_. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the
table yesterday?
_Amb_.
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