t thou'st the maddest lord that e'er I met.
If I 'scape this, and meet thee once again,
Curse Skink, if he die penny in thy debt.

_Re-enter_ DRAWER.

DRA. O my lord, the house is full of halberts, and a great many
gentlemen ask for the room where Prince John is.

SKINK. Lend me thy apron; run and fetch a pot from the next room.
Betray'd, swounds, betray'd by gout, by palsy, by dropsy--
_Re-enter_ DRAWER _with a pot_.
O brave boy, excellent blood! up, take my cloak
And my hat to thy share; when I come from Kent, I'll pay
Thee like a king.

DRA. I thank you, my lord.
[_Exit_ DRAWER.

SCENE THE TWENTY-THIRD.

_Enter_ JOHN, RICHARD, FAUCONBRIDGE, SHERIFFS, _and_ OFFICERS.

SKINK. Now, fortune, help or never. They come--_and ye were a prince,
as ye say ye are, ye would be ashamed to abuse a poor servant thus;
but and if ye were not of the blood royal, I'd break the neck of ye
down the stairs, so would I, I'd teach you to hurt 'prentices_.

RICH. Who hurt thee, fellow?

SKINK. Prince devil or his dam; Prince John they call him.

JOHN. Gloster, I hope.

RICH. I doubt not but 'tis Skink.

JOHN. Where is he?

SKINK. Up them stairs; take heed of him,
He's in the Crown.

FAU. Alas, poor fellow, he hath crown'd thee shrewdly.

JOHN. In recompence, if it be him I seek,
I'll give thee his whole head to tread upon.
Follow me, brother; come, old Fauconbridge;
Keep the stairs, sheriff. You see, it waxeth dark;
Take heed he slip not by you.

[_Exeunt_.

SKINK. Hang yourselves, this darkness shall convey me out of doors,
I'll swim the Thames, but I'll attain Blackheath.
London, farewell; curse, John, rave, Fauconbridge!
Skink 'scapes you all by twilight's privilege.
[_Exit_.

WITHIN. Where is he? lights, bring lights; drag out that boy.

_Enter all with the_ BOY.

JOHN. This is my cloak, my hat, my rapier;
And either it was Skink or Gloster.

DRA. I know not who 'twas, sir; he said he was Prince John; he took
away my apron and a pottle-pot with him, and all-to blooded his head
and face.

FAU. We met him, by St Anthony, we met him!

JOHN. The fire of St Anthony confound
This changing counterfeit, whatsoever he be.

RICH. It makes me laugh at envious greediness,
Who feeds upon her own heart's bitterness.

JOHN. Sirrah, you that were born to