Charge on then, bottle in hand.

There's husbandry in that.
[_They go out, singing.

Only_ LOVEL _remains, who observes_ WOODVIL.
_John_ (_still talking to himself_).
This Lovel here's of a tough honesty, Would put the rack to the proof.

He is not of that sort Which haunt my house, snorting the liquors, And when their wisdoms are afloat with wine, Spend vows as fast as vapors, which go off Even with the fumes, their fathers.

He is one, Whose sober morning actions Shame not his o'ernight's promises; Talks little, flatters less, and makes no promises; Why this is he, whom the dark-wisdom'd fate Might trust her counsels of predestination with, And the world be no loser.
Why should I fear this man?
[_Seeing_ LOVEL.
Where is the company gone?
_Lovel_.