Beg. Y'are a baggage, the Slies are no
Rogues. Looke in the Chronicles, we came
in with Richard Conqueror: therefore Paucas
pallabris, let the world slide: Sessa
Host. You will not pay for the glasses you haue burst?
Beg. No, not a deniere: go by S[aint]. Ieronimie, goe to thy
cold bed, and warme thee
Host. I know my remedie, I must go fetch the Head-borough
Beg. Third, or fourth, or fift Borough, Ile answere
him by Law. Ile not budge an inch boy: Let him come,
Winde hornes. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his traine.
Lo. Huntsman I charge thee, tender wel my hounds,
Brach Meriman, the poore Curre is imbost,
And couple Clowder with the deepe-mouth'd brach,
Saw'st thou not boy how Siluer made it good
At the hedge corner, in the couldest fault,
I would not loose the dogge for twentie pound
Hunts. Why Belman is as good as he my Lord,
He cried vpon it at the meerest losse,
And twice to day pick'd out the dullest sent,
Trust me, I take him for the better dogge
Lord. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete,
I would esteeme him worth a dozen such:
But sup them well, and looke vnto them all,
To morrow I intend to hunt againe
Hunts. I will my Lord
Lord. What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth
2.Hun. He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd
with Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly
Lord. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lyes.
Grim death, how foule and loathsome is thine image:
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed,
Wrap'd in sweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers:
A most delicious banquet by his bed,
And braue attendants neere him when he wakes,
Would not the begger then forget himselfe?
1.Hun. Beleeue me Lord, I thinke he cannot choose