[_Exit_.

_Get_. In troth, I had good hope the formost had bene _Acteon_, when I
saw his hornes.

_Cit. wif_. Sure the middlemost was my husband, see if he have not a
wen in his forehead.

_Enter Maskers_.

_Host_. God blesse thee, noble _Caesar_, & all these brave bridegroomes,
with their fine little dydoppers, that looke before they sleep to throw
away their maiden heads: I am host of the Hobbie, _Cornut_. is my
neighbour, but wele pull of his bopeeper; thou't know me by my nose, I
am a mad merie grig, come to make thy grace laugh; sir _Scillicet_ my
guest; all true canaries, that love juce of grapes, god blesse thy
Maiestie.

_Acut_. How now, mine Host?

_Host_. Ha, ha, I spie a jest. Ha, ha, _Cornutus, Cornutus_.

_Acut_. Nay, mine host, heeres a moate in your eye to [_sic_].

_Scil_. S'lid, I hope they have not serv'd me so; by the torrid y'are an
asse, a flat Asse, but the best is I know who did it; twas either you or
some body else; by gad, I remember it as wel as if it were done now.

_Host_. T[h]ou shalt answer it to my leige, ile not be so misused, ye
have a wrong element, theres fire in my face, weele mount and ascend.
I'me misused, the mad comrades have plaide the knaves. Justice, my brave
_Caesar_.

_Accut_. Ile answer it, mine Host. Pardon, greate _Caesar_:
The intent was merriment, the reason this:
A true brow bends to see good things a misse,
Men turned to beasts, and such are you mine Host;
Ile show you else, you are a Goate, look here!
Now come you, this is your's, you know it, doe you not?
How old are you? are you not a Goate now?
Shall I teach you how to use a wife and keepe her
In the rank of goodnes? linke her to thy soule,
Devide not _individium_, be her and she thee,
Keepe her from the Serpent, let her not Gad
To everie Gossips congregation;
For there is blushing modestie laide out
And a free rayne to sensual turpitude
Given out at length and lybidinous acts,
Free chat, each giving counsell and sensure
_Capream maritum facere_, such art thou Goate.
Be not so secure. And you, my grand _Cornutus_,
Thou Ram, thou seest thy shame, a pent-house
To thy eye-browes, doost not glorie in it, doost?
Thou'lt lye in a Trucklebed, at thy wives bed feete,
And let her goe a Gossiping while thou sweepest the kitchin.
Look, she shall witnesse[325] against thee.

_Corn_. My wife there? I must be gone then.

_Acut_. Oh fye, betray not thy self so grossely.

_Cor_. I pray ye pardon me.