of Feuershame.
sitteth alone, so I mourning for your absence, do walk vp and down Poules, til one day I fell a sleepe and lost my maisters Pantophelles. Ah mistres Susan abbolishe that paltry Painter, cut him off by the shinnes, with afrowning looke of your crabed countenance, & think vpon Michaell, who druncke with the dregges of your fauour, wil cleaue as fast to your loue, as a plaster of Pitch to a gald horse back Thus hoping you will let my passions penetrate, or rather impetrate mercy of your meeke hands, I end.
Ard.
Why you paltrie knaue,
Stand you here loytering, knowing my affaires,
What haste my busines craues to send to Kent?
Fran.
Faith frend Michaell, this is very ill,
Knowing your maister hath no more but you,
And do ye slacke his busines for your owne?
Ard.
Where is the letter sirra, let me see it,
Then he giues him the letter.
See maister Francklin, heres proper stuffe,
Susan my maid, the Painter, and my man,
A crue of harlots all in loue forsooth,
Sirra let me heare no more of this.
Now for thy lyfe, once write to her a worde.
Here enters Grene, Will, and Shakebag,
Tis Mosbies sister, come I once at home,
Ile rouse her from remaining in my house:
Now M. Francklin let vs go walke in Paules,
Come, but a turne or two and then away, Exeunt,
Gre.
The first is Arden, and thats his man,
The other is Francklin Ardens dearest freend,
Will.
Zounds Ile kill them all three,
Gre.
Nay sirs, touch not his man in any case,
But stand close, and take you fittest standing,
And at his comming foorth speede him:
To the Nages head, ther'is this cowards haunt,
But now Ile leaue you till the deed be don: Exit Greene
