_Clowne_. Staye, oh thou father of fornication and marchant of nothinge but mesteryes and mischeife; whele about, thou dung[c]art of diseases; sayle this way thoue galley foyst[56] of galls and garbadge! Dost not heare my master? staye! _Mildewe_. Why, did his worshippe call? _Clowne_. Didst thou not heare him call, and mee cry out upon thee? _Mildewe_. His pleasure then? _Raphael_. I have bethought mee better nowe to keepe This business secrett, least it chance to arryve To th'eares of some of my most noble frends; And not to make it publicke and this honest Purpose of myne by that meanes misreated,[57] Heare lett her stay till night bycause I am loath In th'eye of day to move her through the streetes. _Mildewe_. Good, syr. _Raphael_. Nwe [Now] in the villaige by, that fronts the sea, Som halff league off where stands the monastery, I have bespoake a place to sojorn her. There I this evening do intend[58] a feast Where only wee and som fewe private frends Have purpost to bee jhoviall. To that place I prithee, with what pryvacy thou canst, Conduct her and so add unto our guests. _Mildewe_. The place I knwe, the tyme is perfect with mee, And for the feast you saye you have prepared I shall provyde a stomacke. _Raphael_. Her caskett, and such other necessaryes Included in our bargen, bring alonge Or lett her mayde do'ot for thee. _Mildewe_. I'l not bate her A ruff or ragge; no pinne that's usefull too her Will I keepe backe. _Raphael_. To this you are witnes, frend. _Treadway_. I am, Syr. _Mildewe_. So's my guest. _Clowne_. And lookes as if with me Hee only could write witlesse. _Raphael_. Supper tyme You will remember, _Mildewe_. _Mildewe_. Possible I should forgett to eate of others' cost? It never was my custom. _Clowne_. Choake you for't. _Raphael_. Come, frend, mee thinks I have doone a deede this day Crownes all my better actions, for I have raised An Innocent from the hands of an Infidell agent. _Clowne_. Farewell, rott, farewell murreine, adiewe. _Mildewe_. Farewell till soone. [_Exeunt Raphael, Treadway, and Clowne_. _Sarleb_. And do you meane to keepe your promisse then, And doo as you have sayde? _Mildewe_. Why not, I prithee? What else canst thou advyse mee? _Sarleb_. Are not wee Boathe of a rotten conscience, men debosht, Secluded from the company of such As either are or else would stryve to bee Reputed honest? wherefore then should wee Keepe tutche with any that professe themselves Not to bee of our ranke? _Mildewe_. Proceede, good frend: Thou hast putt project in my brayne allredy, Small tyme woold better fashion. _Sarleb_. What if I Laye such a plotte that you shall gayne these crownes These full three hundred to your proper use, And of these peevishe harletryes at home Make a much greater market? _Mildewe_. Marry, syr, That were a tale worth listeninge.