Innk. Nor does it stand with my Profession to entertain Guests for nothing.

Con. But we are tied up by a Rule not to touch Money.

Innk. And my Rule commands me quite the contrary.

Con. What Rule is yours?

Innk. Read those Verses: 

      Guests at this Table, when you’ve eat while you’re able. 
      Rise not hence before you have first paid your Score.

Con. We’ll be no Charge to you.

Innk. But they that are no Charge to me are no Profit to me neither.

Con. If you do us any good Office here, God will make it up to you sufficiently.

Innk. But these Words won’t keep my Family.

Con. We’ll hide ourselves in some Corner of the Stove, and won’t be troublesome to any Body.

Innk. My Stove won’t hold such Company.

Con. What, will you thrust us out of Doors then?  It may be we shall be devour’d by Wolves to Night.

Innk. Neither Wolves nor Dogs will prey upon their own Kind.

Con. If you do so you will be more cruel than the Turks.  Let us be what we will, we are Men.

Innk. I have lost my Hearing.

Con. You indulge your Corps, and lye naked in a warm Bed behind the Stove, and will you thrust us out of Doors to be perish’d with Cold, if the Wolves should not devour us?

Innk. Adam liv’d so in Paradise.

Con. He did so, but then he was innocent.

Innk. And so am I innocent.

Con. Perhaps so, leaving out the first Syllable.  But take Care, if you thrust us out of your Paradise, lest God should not receive you into his.

Innk. Good Words, I beseech you.

Wife. Prithee, my Dear, make some Amends for all your ill Deeds by this small Kindness, let them stay in our House to Night:  They are good Men, and thou’lt thrive the better for’t.

Innk. Here’s a Reconciler for you.  I’m afraid you’re agreed upon the Matter.  I don’t very well like to hear this good Character from a Woman; Good Men!

Wife. Phoo, there’s nothing in it.  But think with your self how often you have offended God with Dicing, Drinking, Brawling, Quarrelling.  At least, make an Atonement for your Sins by this Act of Charity, and don’t thrust these Men out of Doors, whom you would wish to be with you when you are upon your Death-Bed.  You oftentimes harbour Rattles and Buffoons, and will you thrust these Men out of Doors?

Innk. What does this Petticoat-Preacher do here?  Get you in, and mind your Kitchen.

Wife. Well, so I will.

Bert. The Man softens methinks, and he is taking his Shirt, I hope all will be well by and by.

Con. And the Servants are laying the Cloth.  It is happy for us that no Guests come, for we should have been sent packing if they had.