hat lord!
We'll meet at th'Mitre, where we'll sup down sorrow,
We are drunk to-night, and so we'll be to-morrow.

[_Exeunt_.

LORD. Why, now I see: what I heard of, I believed not,
Your kinsman lives--

SIR WIL. Like to a swine.

LORD. A perfect Epythite,[398] he feeds on draff,
And wallows in the mire, to make men laugh:
I pity him.

SIR WIL. No pity's fit for him.

LORD. Yet we'll advise him.

SIR WIL. He is my kinsman.

LORD. Being in the pit, where many do fall in,
We will both comfort him and counsel him.

[_Exeunt_.

ACT IV.

_A noise within, crying Follow, follow, follow! then enter_
BUTLER, THOMAS _and_ JOHN SCARBOROW, _with money-bags_.

THOM. What shall we do now, butler?

BUT. A man had better line a good handsome pair of gallows before his
time, than be born to do these sucklings good, their mother's milk not
wrung out of their nose yet; they know no more how to behave themselves
in this honest and needful calling of pursetaking, than I do to piece
stockings.

WITHIN. This way, this way, this way!

BOTH. 'Sfoot, what shall we do now?

BUT. See if they do not quake like a trembling asp-leaf, and look more
miserable than one of the wicked elders pictured in the painted
cloth.[399] Should they but come to the credit to be arraigned for their
valour before a worshipful bench, their very looks would hang 'em, and
they were indicted but for stealing of eggs.

WITHIN. Follow, follow! This way! Follow!

THOM. Butler.

JOHN. Honest butler.

BUT. Squat, heart, squat, creep me into these bushes, and lie me as
close to the ground as you would do to a wench.

THOM. How, good butler? show us how.

BUT. By the moon, patroness of all pursetakers, who would be troubled
with such changelings? squat, heart, squat.

THOM. Thus, butler?

BUT. Ay so, suckling, so; stir not now: if the peering rogues chance to
go over you, yet stir not: younger brothers call you them, and have no
more forecast, I am ashamed of you. These are such whose fathers had
need leave them money, even to make them ready withal; for, by these
hilts, they have not wit to button their sleeves without teaching:
close, squat, close. Now if the lot of hanging do fall to my share, so;
then the old father's[400] man drops for his young masters. If it
chance, it chances; and when it chances, heaven and the sheriff send me
a good rope! I wo