Hem. Yes Sir, and this adds trust
Unto the fellow our guide, who assur’d me Florez
Liv’d in some Merchants shape, as Gerrard did
I’ the old Beggars, and that he would use
Him for the train, to call the other forth;
All which we find is done—­That’s he again—­ [Holla again.

Woolf. Good, we sent out to meet him.

Hem. Here’s the Oak.

Ger. I am miserably lost, thus faln Into my Uncles hands from all my hopes, Can I not think away my self and dye?

Enter Hubert, Higgen, Prig, Ferret, Snap, Ginks like Boors.

Hub. I like your habits well:  they are safe, stand close.

Hig. But what’s the action we are for now?  Ha!  Robbing a Ripper of his Fish.

Prig. Or taking A Poulterer Prisoner, without ransome, Bullyes?

Hig. Or cutting off a Convoy of Butter?

Fer. Or surprizing a Boors ken, for granting cheats!

Prig. Or cackling Cheats?

Hig. Or Mergery-praters, Rogers, And Tibs o’th’ Buttery?

Prig. O I could drive a Regiment Of Geese afore me, such a night as this, Ten Leagues with my Hat and Staff, and not a hiss Heard, nor a wing of my Troops disordered.

Hig. Tell us,
If it be milling of a lag of duds,
The fetching of a back of cloaths or so;
We are horribly out of linnen.

Hub. No such matter.

Hig. Let me alone with the Farmers dog, If you have a mind to the cheese-loft; ’tis but thus, And he is a silenc’d Mastiff, during pleasure.

Hub. Would it would please you to be silent.

Hig. Mum.

Woolf. Who’s there?

Hub. A friend, the Hunts-man.

Hem. O ’tis he.

Hub. I have kept touch Sir, which is the Earl of these?  Will he know a man now?

Hem. This my Lord’s the Friend, Hath undertook the service.

Hub. If’t be worth
His Lordships thanks anon, when ’tis done
Lording, I’ll look for’t, a rude Wood-man,
I know how to pitch my toils, drive in my game: 
And I have don’t, both Florez and his Father
Old Gerrard, with Lord Arnold of Benthuisen,
Cozen, and Jaculin, young Florez’s Sister: 
I have ’em all.

Woolf. Thou speak’st too much, too happy, To carry faith with it.

Hub. I can bring you Where you shall see, and find ’em.

Woolf. We will double What ever Hemskirk then hath promis’d thee.

Hub. And I’ll deserve it treble:  what horse ha’ you?

Woolf. A hundred.  That’s well:  ready to take Upon surprise of ’em.

Hem. Yes.