e Clowne_.

_All_. Come, sir, you shall answere your walking before our Captayne.

_Clow_. Well, sirs, take heed what you doe: I am a Princes man; if you
stay me upon the kings hye way I can lay fellowship to your charge.

_Core_. But, sirra, we can lay Treason to thine for being without the
word.

_Clow_. Without the word! O pernicious Frenchman! without the word! why,
I have call'd thee Villayne, him Rascall, this Slave, that Rogue; and am
I still without the word.

_Core_. I, sir, the word that must serve your turne, the Watch-word.

_Clow_. Fayth, y'are like to watch this twelve moneth ere you have any
other words at my hands.

_Bow_. How now, masters? what calfe are you dragging to the
slaughter-house there, ha?

_Core_. A stragler and a spy, Captayne, I pray examine him.

_Bow_. So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last: Ile
talke with you anon. But, sirra, to you: From whence come you?

_Clow_. I came, Sir, from the king of Fraunces campe.

_Bow_. So, what's your name?

_Clow_. My name, sir, is Bow wow.

_Bow_. S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedge-hog mocks us. Bow wow,
quotha? what kin art thou to the generation of Dogges?

_Clow_. No dog, sir: would you should know it, though I be encompast
with curres.

_Bow_. Zounds, he calls us curres! hang the hotch-potch up in a fathom
or two of match.

_Clow_. Not you, sir; I call not you so. I know you to be a very
insufficient ill-spoken Gentleman.

_Bow_. Well, sirra, whom do you serve?

_Clow_. My master, sir, is the Lady Catherine, the French king's
daughter. I have bin abroad about some businesse of hers, and am now
going backe againe.

_Bow_. An honorable Lady, sir. Let him goe; tis against the law of armes
to stay him.

_Clow_. Stand of. But, soft; I doe not know your name, sir, that my Lady
may give you thanks.

_Bow_. My name's Dick Bowyer.

_Clow_. Then, master Dicke Bowyer, after my heartie commendations, adue!
but as for the rest I shall, I say no more, I shall. [_Exit_.

_Bow_. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling when you
should stand Sentinel?

_Core_. Beleeve me, Captayne, I had but a whiffe or two; for I was
passing dry.

_Bow_. Thou art alwayes dry: the whorson Maultworm has a throat like the
burning Clyme or a Glassemakers Furnace. But your remove from thence has
sav'd you from the boults. How now? what Water-Spanyell have we heere?

_Enter Nod_.

_Core_. Tis Lieutenant Nod