shall come in, the knaves shall goe
by; yet will I, maister Constable, goe search through my house, I care
not a sheepes skin.

_Const_. We are compeld to doe it, mine host; a Gentleman is robd last
night, & we are to search every privy corner.

_Host_. Mine host is true Mettall, a man of reputation, a true
_Holefernes_, he loves juice of grapes, and welcom, maister Constable.
[_Exit_.

_Acut_. _Graccus_, how likst thou this?

_Grac_. Excellent, for now must he needes fall into Constables hands,
and if he have any grace, twil appear in his face, when he shall be
carried through the streete in a white sheet; twill be a good penance
for his fault.

_Hostis_. Now fortune favour that my husband find him not.

_Cittie wife_. Heele be horne mad & never able to indure it: why, woman,
if he had but as much man in him as a Maribone, heele take the burthen
uppon his own necke and never discover you.

_Hostis_. Alas, heere they come, lets away, Gossip.
[_Exeunt_.

_Phy_. _Fortune_,[313] _my foe, why doost, &c_.

_Acut_. Oh fye, thats bitter prethe goe comfort him.

_Grac_. Faith he should be innocent by his garment; Signior, I grieve
for this, but if I can help, looke for it.

_Phy_. I thanke ye, sir.

_Const_. We must contaminate our office, pray regard us as little as ye
can. [_Exit_.

_Accut_. Me thinkes this shold put him quite out of tune now, so let him
goe now to mine Host; theres he and hee, and hee,

Theres shee, and she, ile have a bout with all:
And critiques honneys sweetest mixt with gal.

[_Exeunt_.

[_Scene_ 2.]

_Enter Host, Cornutus_.

_Host_. Goe to, there's knaves in my house! I know of no Varlets, I
have an eye has his sence, a brain that can reach, I have bene cald
Polititian, my wife is my wife. I am her top, i'me her head: if mine
Host say the word, the Mouse[314] shall be dun.

_Corn_. Not so my sweet Host, mum, mum, no words against your wife; he
that meanes to live quiet, to sleep in cleane sheetes, a Pillowe under
his head, his dyet drest cleanely, mum, mum, no words against his wife.

_Host_. Thar't a foole, thar't a foole, bee rulde by mine host, shew thy
self a brave man, of the true seede of _Troy_, a gallant _Agamemnon_;
tha'st a shrew to thy wife, if shee crosse thy brave humors, kicke thy
heele