_Io_. The God of good-fellowship. Well, you haue wicked maisters, that teach such little Boyes to sweare so young. _Fris_. Alas, good old great man, wil not your maister swear? _Io_. I neuer heard him sweare six sound oaths in all my life. _Mop_. May hap he cannot because hee's diseas'd. _Fris_. Peace, _Mopso_. I will stand too't hee's neither brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion if he sweare not some time; for they will sweare, forsweare, and sweare. _Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is that? _Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when they loose their labour in love. _Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so wickedly. _Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse. _Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman; for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe that hee would faine strike. _Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts, Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to the faire shepheardesse. _Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin. _Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that followes the sunne, that followes his course. _Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word? _Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps. _Fris_. Are not we fooles? _Io_. Is that a wise word? _Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the wenche's favour? _Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose to poynt me right to my maister. _Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for posting with presents. _Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_. _Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee to a Iacke an apes. _Mop_. And thee to an Owle. _Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke. _Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape. _Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle. _Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed, good man. _Aram_. Welcome, bad boy. _Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_. _Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_. _Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor him, nor thee; But speaking so, I speake and meane all three. _Io_. If ye be good at Rimes and Riddles, old man, expound me this:-- These two serve two, those two serve one; Assoyle[120] me this and I am gone.