BOY

You mean the flay bitten. And was the same the best that ere you rid on? I faith it was not sir. One of my colour, and a better too. Or of that complexion. The colour sir. Nay good sir hold your hands. Why sir, I cannot paint. Then I must find the table if you do. Look how you chafe, you would be angry more, if I should tell it you. Why sir, the horse that I do mean, Hath a leg both straight and clean. That hath nor spauen, splint nor flaw. But is the best that ever you saw, A pretierising knee, Oh knee! It is as round as round may be, The full flank makes the buttock round, This palfrey stands on no ground, When as my maister's on her back, If that he once do say but, tick, And if he prick her, you shall see Her gallop amain, she is so free, And if he give her but a nod, She thinks it is a riding rod: And if he'll have her softly go, Then she trips it Like a Do, She comes so easy with the rain, A twine thread turns her back again, And truly I did never see yet; A horse play proudlier on the bit, My master with good managing, Brought her first unto the ring, He likewise taught herto corvet, To run and suddenly to set, She's cunning in the wild goose raze, Nay she's apt to every pace, And to prove her colour good, A flay enamoured of her blood, Dug for channels in her neck, And there made many a crimson speck, I think theres none that use to ride, But can her pleasant trot abide, She goes oh even upon the way, She will not stumble in a day, And when my ma ster. Nay nothing sir. Faith sir I think. I think that you sir have be asked by many, But yet I never herd that ye told any, Rub, rub. Why you overcast the mark and miss the way. Faith he lies a hundred. No thou standest Like the Bull at S. Albans. The Bul's bitten, see how he buts. Put up sir, and you be a man put up. I cannot tell, but I am sure he hath more liquour in him Then a whole dicker of hides, he's socked thoroughly I faith. I will si . Spoken Like a right maulster Hodge, but dost thou hear thou art not drunk. Hold man, see and thou canst stand first, No, he's a man as thou art. Hold fast by the bucket I there is a rope on it, but where art thou Hodge? Come give up thy body, wind up, hoist. In all Hodge, in all. Because sir I would have drunkards cheap. They call him Nicholas sir. At Beggars bush, here him no more master, he does be daub you with his dirty speech: do you hear sir, how far stands Beggars bush from your father's house sir? how thou whoreson refuge of a Taylor, that Wertenberg prentice to a tai lor half and age, & because if thou hadst served ten ages thou wouldst prove but a butcher, thou leapst from ̄ the shop boam worser to a Blue coat: does it become thee to use thy terms so? well, thou degree above a hackney, and ten degrees under a Page, sow up your lubber lips, or 'tis not your sword and Buckler, shall keep my Poniard from your breast. I Nicholas, wilt not thou go see the fray? A little further, call again. Mass it may be so as I am true man, I have not seen a cunny since I came, Yet at the Cunny-borow we should meet, But hark, I hear the trampling of some feet. Oh Hodge, Dick Coomes hath been as good as a cry of Hounds, to make a breathed Hair of me, but didst thou see my master? Owl, you Ass. Content, I'll get the Torch, stand close. So ho? No by God, I'll be witness to none: Why they say, that when any thing hath a fallen, it is cheap, and so of drunkards. Nay faith sir, we must have some smith to give the butler A drench, or cut him in the forehead, for he hath God A horses disease, namely the staggers, to night he's a good Huswife, he reels all that he wrought to day, & he were good Now to play at dice, for he casts excellent well. Sir, heeres one of Master Barnsies men with a letter to my old master. Fran. Which of them is it? I know why that is. Because you have never a pocket, Dick Coom , what difference is there between a blind man, and he that cannot see? Marry sir, where he was even now a sleep, but I waked him, and when he waked, he thought he was in may ster Barnses buttery, for he stretched himself thus: and y uning said, Neck, honest Neck fill a fresh bowl of ale, stand to it Neck and thou be'st a man of Gods making, stand to it, and then I winded my horn, and he's horn mad. From my Master's house to the Alehouse. So sir. By the mass 'tis our Coomes & Nicholas, & it seems they are providing to fight. Oh God I have run so far into the wind, that I have run my self out of wind, they say a man is near his end when he lacks breath, and I am at the end of my raze, for I can run no farther then here I be in my breath bed, not in my death bed. True Hodge.