PIERCE. Sith that by the law we are now condemned, Let us call to God for his mercy and his grace; And exhort that all vice may be amended, While we in this world have time and space. And though our lives have licentiously been spent, Yet at the last to God let us call; For he heareth such as are ready to repent, And desireth not that sinners should fall. Now are we ready to suffer, come when it shall. _Here ent'reth in_ HANKIN HANGMAN. NEW. Come, Hankin Hangman, let us two cast lots, And between us divide a couple of coats: Take thou the one, and the other shall be mine. Come, Hankin Hangman, thou cam'st in good time. [_They take off the coats, and divide them._ HANKIN. Thou should'st have one, Nichol, I swear by the mass, For thou bringest work for me daily to pass; And through thy means I get more coats in one year, Than all my living is worth beside, I swear. Therefore, Nichol Newfangle, we will depart never: For like will to like, quoth the Devil to the Collier. NEW. Now, farewell, Hankin Hangman, farewell to thee. HANKIN. Farewell, Nichol Newfangle: come you two with me. [HANKIN _goeth out, and leadeth the one in his right hand, and the other in his left, having halters about their necks_. NEW. Ha, ha, ha! there is a brace of hounds, well worth a dozen crowns, Behold the huntsman leadeth away! I think in twenty towns, on hills, and eke on downs. They taken have their prey. So well liked was their hunting on hill and eke on mountain, That now they be up in a lease:[360] To keep within a string, is it not a gay thing? Do all of you hold your peace? Why then, good gentle boy, how likest thou this play? No more, but say thy mind: I swear by this day, if thou wilt this assay, I will to thee be kind. This is well brought to pass of me, I swear by the mass: Some to hang, and other some to beg: I would I had Balaam's ass to carry me, where I was; How say you, little Meg? Ralph Roister and Tom Tosspot, are now not worth a groat, So well with them it is: I would I had a pot, for now I am so hot, By the mass, I must go piss. Philip Fleming and Hance have danc'd a pretty dance, That all is now spent out. And now a great mischance came on while they did prance: They lie sick of the gout. And in a 'spital-house, with little Laurence louse, They be fain for to dwell: If they eat a moisel of souse, or else a roasted mouse, They think they do fare well. But as for Peter Pickpurse, and also Cuthbert Cutpurse, You saw them both right now: With them it is much worse, for they do ban and curse; For the halter shall them bow. Now if I had my nag, to see the world wag, I would straight ride about: Ginks, do fill the bag. I would not pass a rag