Enter ROBIN GOODFELLOW.

But stay; what man or devil, or hellish fiend comes here,
Transformed in this ugly, uncouth shape?

FORTUNATUS. 
O, peace a while; you shall see good sport anon.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
Now I am clothed in this hellish shape,
If I could meet with Sophos in these woods,
O, he would take me for the devil himself: 
I should ha’ good laughing, beside the forty
Shillings Peter Plod-all has given me; and if
I get no more, I’m sure of that.  But soft;
Now I must try my cunning, for here he sits.—­
The high commander of the damned souls,
Great Dis, the duke of devils, and prince of Limbo lake,
High regent of Acheron, Styx, and Phlegeton,
By strict command from Pluto, hell’s great monarch,
And fair Proserpina, the queen of hell,
By full consent of all the damned hags,
And all the fiends that keep the Stygian plains,
Hath sent me here from depth of underground
To summon thee to appear at Pluto’s court.

FORTUNATUS. 
A man or devil, or whatsoe’er thou art,
I’ll try if blows will drive thee down to hell: 
Belike, thou art the devil’s parator,
The basest officer that lives in hell;
For such thy words import thee for to be. 
’Tis pity you should come so far without a fee;
And because I know money goes low with Sophos,
I’ll pay you your fees:  [He beats him. 
Take that and that, and that, upon thee.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
O good sir, I beseech you; I’ll do anything.

FORTUNATUS. 
Then down to hell; for sure thou art a devil.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
O, hold your hands; I am not a devil, by my troth.

FORTUNATUS. 
Zounds, dost thou cross me?  I say thou art a devil.
                                [Beats him again.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
O Lord! sir, save my life, and I’ll say as you say,
Or anything else you’ll ha’ me do.

FORTUNATUS. 
Then stand up,
And make a preachment of thy pedigree,
And how at first thou learn’dst this devilish trade: 
Up, I say. [Beats him.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW. 
O, I will, sir:  although in some places [Stands upon a stool. 
I bear the title of a scurvy gentleman,
By birth I am a boat-wright’s son of Hull,
My father got me of a refus’d hag,
Under the old ruins of Booby’s barn;
Who, as she liv’d, at length she likewise died,
And for her good deeds went unto the devil: 
But, hell not wont to harbour such a guest,
Her fellow-fiends do daily make complaint
Unto grim Pluto and his lady queen
Of her unruly misbehaviour;
Entreating that a passport might be drawn
For her to wander till the day of doom
On earth again, to vex the minds of men,
And swore she was the fittest fiend in hell
To drive men to desperation. 
To this intent her passport straight was drawn,