_Draw_. Yes, Sir.

_Shr_. What Wine does he drink?

_Draw_. Three and Six-penny, Sir.

_Shr_. I am his Servant, draw us the same.

_Tot._ Bring me some Sack. [_Exit Drawer._

_Shr._ Well, Master, what think you of _London_ now, is not the rattling
of Coaches, the ringing of Bells, and the joyful Cry of _Great and good
News from Holland_, preferrable to the Country, where you see nothing but
Barns and Cow-houses, hear nothing but the grunting of Swine, and converse
with nothing but the Justice, the Jack-daw, and your old Grand-mother.

_Tot._ Ay, marry is it, and if they ever get me there again, I'll give 'em
leave to pickle and preserve me; here are Drums and Trumpets, Soldiers and
Sempstresses, and fine Sights in ev'ry Street: In the Country we are glad
to go four Miles to see a House o'fire. Nay, wou'd you believe it, we
ha'n't so much as a Tavern in our Town; Gentlemen are forc'd to use Gammer
_Grimes's_ Thatch'd Ale-house, except the Curate be with 'em, and then
they smoke, and drink in the Vestry.

[_Drawer enters with Wine._

_Knap._ Come, Master, here's my hearty Service t'you.

_Tott._ Your hearty Servant thanks you, Sir--Mr. _Shrimp_, here's the
Respects of a Gudgeon t'you.