CLOWN

Oh monstrous, what a sawey companion's this? To pull of his boots in the chair of state, I'll fit you a pennyworth for it. Oh Sir Harry, you look well to your office, Yonders one in the garden with the Princess. I sir thats all one, but she no sooner came into the Garden, but he leapt over the wall, and there They are together busy in talk Sir. Here he is in a string my Lord. This is he I told you was busy in talk with the Princess; What a did there, you must get out of him by examination. So may your worship be for any thing that I know. If you worship does not remember me, I hope your worships crooper does: But if you have any thing to say to this honest fellow, Who for his grey head and reverent beard is so Like, He may be a kin to you. Then your worship will cry quittance with my Posteriors for misusing of yours. Gods pity I think you are down, cry you mercy. Not so saucy and arrant knave as your worship takes me to be. I am sorry it's no worse for your worship. Whither go you so fast mistress Clarentia. A milking, that's a poor office for a Madame. Troth you say true, every one to his fortune, As men go to hanging, the time hath been, When I would would scorned to carry coals, but now the case is altered, Every man as far as his talent will stretch. Faith making Bonfires for joy of the new Queen, Come sir your penny, and you be a true subject, You'll battle with us your faggot, we'lbe merry yfayth. By my faith my Master's, he speaks wisely, Come weel to the end of the lane, and there weel Make a bonfire and be merry, Faith agreed isle spend my halfpenny towards Another faggot, rather then the new Queen shall Want a Bonfire. Exeunt manet Tame. And I'll not be long after you, for I am sure My curtal will carry me as fast as your double Gelding. Come neighbour, come away, every man his faggot, And his double pot, for joy of the old Queens death, Let Bells' ring, and children sing. For we may have cause to remember, The seventeenth day of November. I, but do not you know the old proverb, We must live by the quick, and not by the dead. Oh Lord the house is beset, shoulders are as hight as fire, Are ready to enter every hold about the House, For as I was a'th top of the stack, the found of the Drum, Hot me such a box a'th Ear, that I came tumbling down, The stack with a thousand byllets a'th top on me, look about, And help for gods sake. Oh Arm, arm, arm.