Fer.  Pr. ’Tis done Lord Higgen.

Hig. Thanks to Prince Prig, Prince Ferret.

Fer. Well, pray my Masters all, Ferret be chosen, Y’are like to have a mercifull mild Prince of me.

Prig. A very tyrant, I, an arrant tyrant,
If e’re I come to reign; therefore look to’t,
Except you do provide me hum enough
And Lour to bouze with:  I must have my Capons
And Turkeys brought me in, with my green Geese,
And Ducklings i’th’ season:  fine fat chickens,
Or if you chance where an eye of tame Phesants
Or Partridges are kept, see they be mine,
Or straight I seize on all your priviledge,
Places, revenues, offices, as forfeit,
Call in your crutches, wooden legs, false bellyes,
Forc’d eyes and teeth, with your dead arms; not leave you
A durty clout to beg with o’ your heads,
Or an old rag with Butter, Frankincense,
Brimston and Rozen, birdlime, blood, and cream,
To make you an old sore; not so much soap
As you may fome with i’th’ Falling-sickness;
The very bag you bear, and the brown dish
Shall be escheated.  All your daintiest Dells too
I will deflower, and take your dearest Doxyes
From your warm sides; and then some one cold night
I’le watch you what old barn you go to roost in,
And there I’le smother you all i’th’ musty hay.

Hig. This is tyrant-like indeed:  But what would Ginks Or Clause be here, if either of them should raign?

Clau. Best ask an Ass, if he were made a Camel, What he would be; or a dog, and he were a Lyon.

Ginks. I care not what you are, Sirs, I shall be A Beggar still I am sure, I find my self there.

Enter Goswin.

Snap. O here a Judge comes.

Hig. Cry, a Judge, a Judge.

Gos. What ail you Sirs? what means this outcry?

Hig. Master,
A sort of poor souls met:  Gods fools, good Master,
Have had some little variance amongst our selves
Who should be honestest of us, and which lives
Uprightest in his calling:  Now, ’cause we thought
We ne’re should ’gree on’t our selves, because
Indeed ’tis hard to say:  we all dissolv’d, to put it
To him that should come next, and that’s your Master-ship,
Who, I hope, will ’termine it as your mind serves you,
Right, and no otherwise we ask it:  which? 
Which does your worship think is he? sweet Master
Look over us all, and tell us; we are seven of us,
Like to the seven wise Masters, or the Planets.

Gos. I should judge this the man with the grave beard, And if he be not—­

Clau. Bless you, good Master, bless you.

Gos. I would he were:  there’s something too amongst you To keep you all honest. [Exit.

Snap. King of Heaven go with you.