Some wine, boys.

Cas.

'Fore heav'n, an excellent song.

Iago.

I learn'd it in England: where, indeed, they are most potent in potting. Your Dane, your German, and your swag-belly'd Hollander,—Drink, ho!—are nothing to your English.

Cas.

Is your Englishman so exquisite in his drinking?

Iago.

Why, he drinks you with facility your Dane dead drunk. He sweats not to overthrow your Almain. He gives your Hollander a vomit, ere the next pottle can be fill'd.

Cas.

To the health of our General.

Mon.

I am for it, lieutenant, and I'll do you justice.

Iago.
Oh sweet England.

King Stephen was an a worthy peer,
  His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them six pence all too dear,
  With that he call'd the tailor lown.
He was a wight of high renown,
  And thou art but of low degree:
'Tis pride that pulls the country down,
  Then take thine auld cloak about thee.
Some wine, ho!

Cas.

Why, this is a more exquisite song than the other.

Iago.

Will you hear't again?

&wlquo;Cas.

&wlquo;No, for I hold him to be unworthy of his place that does those things. Well—Heaven's above all; and there be souls that must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved,&wrquo;

Iago.

It's true, good lieutenant.

&wlquo;Cas.

&wlquo;For mine own part, (no offence to the General, nor any man of quality;) I hope to be saved.&wrquo;

Iago.

And so do I too, lieutenant.

&wlquo;Cas.

&wlquo;Ay, but, by your leave, not before me. The Lieutenant is to be saved before the Ancient. Let's have no more of this; let's to our affairs. Forgive our sins—gentlemen, let's look to our business. Do not think, gentlemen, I am drunk: this is my Ancient; this is my right-hand,

and this is my left. I am not drunk now; I can stand well enough, and I speak well enough.&wrquo;

Gent.

Excellent well.

&wlquo;Cas.

&wlquo;Why, very well then: you must not think then that I am drunk.&wrquo;