Acut.  I, when the foole is clad in clay, It will sticke sore unto thy soule for aye.

Phy.  Signior Scillicet, I assure you I have discovered the most queint and new-found device for the encounter of the Ladies at the interview; tis in pricke-song.

Scil.  That’s excellent and rare.

Phi.  I, for prick-song to Ladies is most pleasant and delightfull:  as thus for your congie, All hayle to my belooved; then for your departure, sad dispaire doth drive me hence:  for all must be to effect.

Grac.  Nay, prethee raise no quarrels.

Acut.  I can holde no longer:  heare you, sir, are not you a foole? and you an Asse? and you a knave?

Phy.  Zoundes! an Asse?

Scil.  A Foole?

Ser.  A Knave, without respect?

Acut.  I, for an Asse can beare, a Foole abide, and a Knave deserve.

Omn.  Helpe, Helpe!

Gra.  Prethee let’s away.

Acut.  Fooles often brings wise men to trouble,
Farewell, another time ile pay ye double.
          
                                [Exit.

Enter Host, Hostesse, and Prentises.

Host.  Bring your Clubs out of doores.  There goe in, my fine hostes, Ile talke to the proudest; what, knaves are i’th streete, my dore is my dore, my house is my castell, goe in dame Helena, let thine Host alon with this; he that knocks at my hobby, while I have Ale in my house, shall pay for a Surgeon:  the honest shall come in, the knaves shall go by; bring Clubs, I say.

Scil.  Nay, sir, the heate is past, they that did it have tooke them to their heeles, for indeed heere are of us—­

Host.  Away with your Clubs then; welcome, my brave Bullies, my Guests shall take no wrong; but welcome, my Bullies.

Scil.  Indeede sir, I am a man of few words, I have put up a little bloodshed; marrie, I hope it shall be no stain to my manhoode, if I keepe it out of my clothes.

Host.  He shall pay for the blood-shed, my guestes shall take no wrong; mine Host will spend his Cruse as franke as an Emperor; welcome, my brave bullies.

Ser.  Sir, be pacificall, the fellowe was possest with some critique frenzie, and wee impute it to his madnes.

Scil.  Madde! by Gods slid, if he were as madde as a weaver, I can hardly put it up; for my blow, I care not so much, but he cald me foole; slid, if I live till I dye, the one of us shall prove it.

Host.  Some prophane Villaine, ile warrant him.

Scil.  Doe you thinke I may not have an action against him?

Host.  There’s so many swaggerers; but alasse, how fel ye out?

Scil.  By the welkin, I gave him not a foule word; first he calles me foole, then he makes a full blowe at my body, and if, by good chance, I had not warded it with my head, he might have spoild me.