Mop.  Not I, by Pan.

Io.  Nor I, by Pot.

Mop.  Pot? what god’s that?

Io.  The next god to Pan; and such a pot it may be as he shall haue more servants then all the Pannes in a Tinker’s shop.

Mop. Frisco, where hast thou beene frisking? hast thou found—­

Fris.  I haue found,—­

Io.  What hast thou found, Frisco?

Fris.  A couple of crack-roapes.

Io.  And I.

Mop.  And I.

Fris.  I meane you two.

Io.  I you two.

Mop.  And I you two.

Fris.  Come, a trebble conjunction:  all three, all three.

(They all imbrace each other)

Mop.  But Frisco, hast not found the faire shepheardesse, thy maister’s mistresse?

Fris.  Not I, by God,—­Priapus, I meane.

Io. Priapus, quoth a?  Whatt’in[118] a God might that bee?

Fris.  A plaine God, with a good peg to hang a shepheardesse bottle vpon.

Io.  Thou, being a Forrester’s Boy, shouldst sweare by the God of the woods.

Fris.  My Maister sweares by Siluanus; I must sweare by his poore neighbour.

Io.  And heer’s a shepheard’s swaine sweares by a Kitchen God, Pan.

Mop.  Pan’s the shepheardes God; but thou swearest by Pot:  what God’s that?

Io.  The God of good-fellowship.  Well, you haue wicked maisters, that teach such little Boyes to sweare so young.

Fris.  Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear?

Io.  I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life.

Mop.  May hap he cannot because hee’s diseas’d.

Fris.  Peace, Mopso.  I will stand too’t hee’s neither brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion if he sweare not some time; for they will sweare, forsweare, and sweare.

Io.  How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is that?

Fris.  They’ll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when they loose their labour in love.

Io.  Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so wickedly.

Fris.  Nay, my maister is damn’d, I’ll be sworne, for his verie soule burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse.

Io.  My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman; for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe that hee would faine strike.

Fris.  Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts, Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to the faire shepheardesse.

Mop.  And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to the cottage of my maister’s sweet Lambkin.