Abbot. Murder’s a sinne
Which often is myraculously reveal’d.
Lett justyce question that; beare him to prison,
The t’other to his grave.
Baker. Beeinge so valiant after deathe mee thinkes hee deserves the honor to bee buried lyke a knight in his compleate armor.
Abbot. These thinges shoold not bee trifled.
Retyre you to your homes; these are our chardge.
Wee will acquaint our patron with this sadd
And dyre desaster; fyrst his counsell use,
Next as wee maye our Innocens excuse.
Enter Mildewe and Sarleboyes.
Mild. May the disease of Naples now turn’d Frensh Take bothe the Judge and Jurors! they have doomd The fayre Palestra from mee.
Sarl. So they had Scribonia too, and mulcted us beesydes, But that in part they did comiserate Our so greate losse by sea.
Mild. This is the curse
Belonges to all us bawdes: gentle and noble,
Even th’ouldest fornicator, will in private
Make happy use of us with hugges and brybes;
But let them take us at the publick bench,
Gainst consciens they will spitt at us and doome us
Unto the post and cart. Oh the coruptnes
Of these dissemblinge letchers!
Sarlab. ’Tis well yet You have reserved one virgin left for sale; Of her make your best proffitt.
Mild. A small stocke To rayse a second fortune; yet com, frend, Wee will go seeke her out.
Enter Gripus the Fisherman.
Fisher. No budgett to bee com by; my ould
Hee stands on consciens to deliver it
To the trew owner, but I thinke in consciens
To cheate mee and to keepe it to him selfe;
Which hee shall never doo, to prevent which
I’l openly proclayme it.
If any userer or base exacter,
Any noble marchant or marchant’s factor,
Bee’t marchant venterer or marchant Taylor
Bee hee Mr. Pilot, botswyne or saylor—
Enter Godfrey to them.
Godf. Hist, Gripus, hyst!
Fish. Peace, fellowe Godfrey.
I’l now play the blabber.—
If eather passinger owner or swabber
That in the sea hathe lost a leather budgett
And to the Dolphins, whales or sharkes, doth grudge itt—
Godf. Wilt thou betraye all? I’I go tell my mayster.
Fish. Yes, Godfrey, goe and tell him all and spare not, I am growne desperate; if thou dost I care not.
Mild. Hee talkt of a leatheren budgett lost at sea; More of that newes would please mee.
Fish. Bee hee a Cristian or beleeve in Mawmett I such a one this night tooke in my drawnett.