_Woman_. Sweete charity! nay, usury withall! For one chyld lost, whose goodnes might have blest And bin an honor to our family, To bringe mee home a cuple of loose thinges! I know not what to terme them, but for thee, Owld fornicator, that jad'st mee at home And yet can fend [?] a yonge colt's toothe abroad, Ould as I am myne eyes are not so dimme But can discerne this without spectacles. Hence from my gate, you syrens com from sea, Or as I lyve I'l washe your painteinges off And with hotte skaldeinge water instantly. [_Exit_. _Godfr_. Nay then, sweeteharts, you canott staye, you have had could interteinment. _Pal_. The land's to us as dreadfull as the seas, For wee are heare, as by the billows, tost From one feare to another. _Ashb_. Pretty sowles, Despyer not you of comfort; I'l not leive you To the least danger till som newes returne From him that undertakes your patronadge. You, syrrah, usher them into the fryary, Whence none dares force them. I have a cross wyfe you see, And better you then I take sanctuary. _Scrib_. Wee will be sweyde by you as one in whome Wee yet have fownd all goodnes. _Ashb_. Leive them theere To safety, then returne. [_Ex't. ma: Ashb_.[128] _Clown_. What say'st thou to this gentleman? _Fisher_. No man better.--Now it will go on my syde; this is my owne master, sure hee cannot bee so unatrall to give sentens against his owne natural servant.--Syr, good daye. _Ashb_. Gramercyes, I in truth much suffered for thee, Knowing howe rashly thou exposd thyself To such a turbulent sea. _Clown_. I likewyse, Syr, salute you. _Ashb_. Thanks, good frend. _Clown_. But, syr, is this your servant.[129] _Ashb_. Yes, I acknowledge him; And thou I thinke belongst to Mr _Raphael_, Imployde about these women. _Clown_. Yes I acknowledge it; but you are sure hee's yours? _Ashb_. Once againe I doo confesse him myne. _Clown_. Then heare mee speake. _Fisher_. Heare mee your servant.[130] _Ashb_. I'l heare the stranger fyrst. _Clown_. In this you doo but justyce, I pray tell mee[131] ... Sea, is this a fishe or no, or if a fishe what fishe do you call it (peace you). _Ashb_. It is no fishe nor fleshe. _Clowne_. Nor good redd herringe--fisherman, y'r gone. _Fisher_. Thou art deceav'd I am heare still, and may have heare for ought I knowe to by all the redd herringe in _Marcell[es]_. _Clowne_. Did you ever heare of a fishe cal'd a budgett? _Ashb_. I protest never synce I knew the sea. _Clowne_. You are gone againe fisherman. _Fisher_. I am heare still; and now, master, heare mee. _Clowne_. Lett mee proceede. This bagge, this knapsacke, or this portmanteau hee woold make a fishe bycause tooke in his nett. Nowe, syr, I com to you with this ould proverbe, all's not fishe that com's to nett.--There you are, gone againe. _Fisher_. But--