PIERCE. If Nichol Newfangle help us not now in our need, We are like in our business full evil to speed. Therefore let us make no delay, But seek him out of hand, and be gone away. SEVERITY _and_ N. NEWFANGLE _come forward_. NEW. Soft, my masters, awhile I you pray; For I am here, for whom you do seek; For you know that like will never from like. I promised you of late a piece of land, Which by and by shall fall into your hand. CUTHB. What, Master Nichol! how do you to-day? PIERCE. For the passion of God, Master Nichol, help to rid us away; And help us to the land, whereof you did say, That we might make money of it by and by; For out of the realm we purpose to fly. NEW. Marry, I will help you, I swear by All Hallows: And will not part from you, till you come to the gallows. Lo, noble Severity, these be they without doubt. On whom this rumour of thievery[359] is gone about, Therefore, my masters, here is the snare, That shall lead you to the land, called the two-legged mare. [_He putteth about each of their necks a halter._ SEV. My friend, hold them fast even in that plight. NEW. Then come, and help me with your sword; for I fear they will fight. SEV. Strive not, my masters; for it shall not avail; But awhile give ear unto my counsel. Your own words hath condemned you for to die; Therefore to God make yourselves ready. And by and by I will send one, which for your abusion, Shall lead you to the place of execution. NEW. Help to tie their hands, before ye be gone. [SEV. _helpeth to tie them_. SEV. Now they are bound, I will send one to you anon. [_Exit._ NEW. Ah, my masters, how like you this play? You shall take possession of your land to-day! I will help to bridle the two-legged mare, And both you for to ride need not to spare. Now, so God help me, I swear by this bread, I marvel who shall play the knave, when you twain be dead. CUTHB. O cursed caitiff, born in an evil hour, Woe unto me, that ever I did thee know. For of all iniquity thou art the bow'r; The seed of Satan thou dost always sow. Thou only hast given me the overthrow. Woe worth the hour, wherein I was born! Woe worth the time that ever I knew thee! For now in misery I am forlorn; O, all youth take example by me: Flee from evil company, as from a serpent you would flee; For I to you all a mirror may be. I have been daintily and delicately bred, But nothing at all in virtuous lore: And now I am but a man dead, Hanged I must be, which grieveth me full sore. Note well the end of me therefore; And you that fathers and mothers be, Bring not up your children in too much liberty.