Cittie wife.  I, I, mine Host, you are well imployed to give a man counsell against his wife; they are apt enough to ill I warrant ye.

Cornu.  Mum, mum, my sweet wife, I know the world wel enough; I have an eare but I heare not, an eye but I see not, what’s spoke against thee I regard not; mum, mum, I knowe the world well enough.

Cittie wife.  I, and twere more seemely you were at your owne house too; your wife cannot goe abroad, but you must follow; husbands must bee fringed to their wives Petticoates.  I pray you tarrie you, ile goe home.

Cor.  Not so, my sweet wife, I am gone, I am vanisht; mum, mum, no anger shall stirre thee; no words, I know the world well inough.

Hostis.  Twere better, by thrice deuce-ace, in a weeke every woman could awe her husband so well as she.

Gracc.  Ist possible? s’foot, well I thought it had bene but a fable al this while that Iole shold make great Hercules spit on his thombes and spin, but now I see if a man were as great as Caesar, Julius or Augustus, or both in one, a woman may take him downe.

Hostis.  Gossip, faith ile use a little of your counsel, but my husband is so fat, I feare I shall never bring him to it.

Grac.  Now, gentles, you that can, prepare a few teares to shed, for now enters a sad sceane of sorrowe.

    Enter Fryer and Course.

Fryer.  Man is flesh and flesh is fraile,
The strongest man at length must faile;
Man is flesh and flesh is grasse;
Consuming time, as in a glasse,
Now is up and now is downe
And is not purchast by a Crowne;
Now seede, and now we are sowen,
Now we wither, now are mowen;
Frater noster heere doth lye,
In paupertate he did die,
And now is gone his viam longam
That leades unto his requiem aeternam;
But dying needie, poore and bare,
Wanting to discharge the Fryer,
Unto his grave hee’s like to passe
Having neither Dirge nor Masse: 
So set forward, let him goe,
Et benedicamus Domino.

Phy.  And then to Apollo hollo, trees, hollo.—­Tapster a few more cloathes to my feete.

Omnes.  Oh heavens!

Acut.  Gentles, keep your places, feare nothing; in the name of God, what art thou?

Phy.  My Hearse and winding-sheete! what meanes this? why, Gentles, I am a living man.

Acut.  Spirit, thou ly’st; thou deludest us.

Citty wife.  Conjure him, Fryer.

Fryer. In nomine Domini I thee charge, Responde mihi, heere at large, Cujum pecus, whence thou art, Et quamobrem thou makest us start In spiritus of the gloomy night? Qui Venis huc us to affright, Per trinitatem I there charge thee, Quid tu vis hic to tell to me.