_Now of this dance we make an end With mirth and eke with joy: The Collier and the Devil will be Much like to like alway._ NEW. Ha, ha! marry, this is trim singing, I had not thought the Devil to be so cunning; And, by the mass, Tom Collier [is] as good as he: I see that like with like will ever agree. COLL. Farewell, Master Devil, vor ich must be gone. [_Exit._ LU. Why, then, farewell my gentle friend Tom. NEW. Farewell, Tom Collier, a knave be thy comfort! [_Exit_ TOM COLLIER. How say'st thou, godfather? is not this trim sport? LU. Thou art mine own boy; my blessing thou shalt have. NEW. By my truth, godfather, that blessing I do not crave; But if you go your way, I will do my diligence As well in your absence as in your presence. LU. But thou shalt salute me, ere I go doubtless, That in thy doings thou may'st have the better success. Wherefore kneel down and say after me: [_He kneeleth down._ When the devil will have it so, it must needs so be. NEW. What shall I say, bottle-nosed godfather, canst thou tell? LU. All hail, O noble prince of hell! NEW. All my dame's cows' tail[s] fell down in the well. LU. I will exalt thee above the clouds. NEW. I will salt thee, and hang thee in the shrouds. LU. Thou art the enhancer of my renown. NEW. Thou art Hance, the hangman of Calais town. LU. To thee be honour alone. NEW. To thee shall come our hobbling Jone. LU. Amen. NEW. Amen. LU. Now farewell, my boy, farewell heartily, Is there never a knave here will keep the Devil company? NEW. Farewell, godfather, for thou must go alone: I pray thee come hither again anon. [_Exit_ LUCIFER. Marry, here was a benediction of the Devil's good grace: Body of me, I was so afraid, I was like to bestench the place! My buttocks made buttons of the new fashion, While the whoreson Devil was making his salutation. But, by mass, I am so glad as ever was madge mare, That the whoreson Devil is joined with the knave Collier. As fit a match as ever could be pick'd out, What sayst thou to it, Jone with the long snout? [TOM TOSSPOT _cometh in with a feather in his hat_. But who comes yonder puffing, as hot as a black pudding. I hold twenty pound it is a ruffian, if a goose go a-gooding. TOM. Gog's heart and his guts, is not this too bad? Blood, wounds, and nails! it will make a man mad. NEW. I warrant you, here is a lusty one, [and] very brave: I think anon he will swear himself a knave.