ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
An excellent device, i’ faith!

CHURMS. Ay, sir, and by this means I’ll make a very gull of my fine Diogenes:  I shall know his secrets even from the very bottom of his heart.  Nay more, sir; you shall see me deal so cunningly, that he shall make me an instrument to compass his desire; when, God knows, I mean nothing less. Qui dissimulare nescit, nescit vivere.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
Why, this will be sport alone; but what would you have me do in this
action?

CHURMS. Marry, as I play with th’one hand, play you with t’other.  Fall you aboard with Peter Plod-all; make him believe you’ll work miracles, and that you have a powder will make Lelia love him.  Nay, what will he not believe, and take all that comes? you know my mind:  and so we’ll make a gull of the one and a goose of the other.  And if we can invent any device to bring the scholar in disgrace with her, I do not doubt but with your help to creep between the bark and the tree, and get Lelia myself.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
Tush! man.  I have a device in my head already to do that.  But they say
her brother Fortunatus loves him dearly.

CHURMS. Tut! he’s out of the country; he follows the drum and the flag.  He may chance to be killed with a double cannon before he come home again.  But what’s your device?

ROBIN GOODFELLOW.  Marry, I’ll do this:  I’ll frame an indictment against Sophos in manner and form of a rape, and the next law-day you shall prefer it, that so Lelia may loath him, her father still deadly hate him, and the young gallant her brother utterly forsake him.

CHURMS.
But how shall we prove it?

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
Zounds, we’ll hire some strumpet or other to be sworn against him.

CHURMS.
Now, by the substance of my soul, ’tis an excellent device.  Well, let’s
in.  I’ll first try my cunning otherwise, and if all fail, we’ll try this
conclusion.
               [Exeunt.

    Enter MOTHER MIDNIGHT, NURSE, and PEG.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT. 
Y’faith, Marget, you must e’en take your daughter Peg home again, for
she’ll not be ruled by me.

NURSE. 
Why, mother, what will she not do?

MOTHER MIDNIGHT.  Faith, she neither did, nor does, nor will do anything.  Send her to the market with eggs, she’ll sell them, and spend the money.  Send her to make a pudding, she’ll put in no suet.  She’ll run out o’ nights a-dancing, and come no more home till day-peep.  Bid her come to bed, she’ll come when she list.  Ah, ’tis a nasty shame to see her bringing-up.

NURSE. 
Out, you rogue! you arrant, &c.  What, knowest not thy granam?

PEG. 
I know her to be a testy old fool; She’s never well, but grunting in a
corner.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT.  Nay, she’ll camp, I warrant ye.  O, she has a tongue!  But, Marget, e’en take her home to your mistress, and there keep her, for I’ll keep her no longer.