CACON. Yai, mara, is ther a vara busybody, Whe will jest with me and call me fule and noddy, And sets his lads te spout Latin ayenst me, But ay spose then with _Deparfundis Clam aui_: And oftentimes he wil reason with me of the Sacarment, And say he can prove bay the New Testament That Chraist's body is in heaven placed; But ays not believe him, ay woll not be awt-faced. He says besayd that the Pope is Antichraist, Fugered of John bay the seven-headed beast, And all awre religion is but mon's invention, And with God's ward is at utter dissension; And a plaguy deal mare of sayk layk talk, That ay dar not far may narse bay his yate walk, But ay wawd he wer brunt, that ay mawght be whaiet.[45] TYRANNY. He must have a cooler; his tongue runs at riot. AVARICE. What is his name, Sir John, canst thou tell us? CACON. Yai, sir, that ay ken: he is cleped Phailelegoos. TYRANNY. Wilt thou go show his house, where he dwell? CACON. Yai, or els ay wawd may sawl war in hell. Te de him a pleasure ay wawd gang a whole year, Gif it war but te make him a fadock[46] te bear. TYRANNY. Go with us, Avarice, and bear us company. AVARICE. Nay, if you go hence, I will not here tarry. HYPOCRISY. Away, sirs: in your business in a corner do not lurk, That my Lord Legate, when he comes, may have work. TYRANNY. Come on: let us go together, Sir John. CACON. Ay sall follow after. God boy, you good gentleman. HYPOCRISY [_Aside_.] Farewell three false knaves as between this and London! TYRANNY. What say'st thou? HYPOCRISY. As honest men as the three Kings of Cologne. [_Exeunt_ TYR. AVA. CACON. This gear goes round, if that we had a fiddle: Nay, I must sing too, _heigh, dery, dery, dery_. I can do but laugh, my heart is so merry: I will be minstrel myself, _heigh, didle, didle, didle_; But lay there a straw I began to be weary. But hark; I hear a trampling of feet. It is my Lord Legate; I will him go meet. ACT IV., SCENE I. CAR[DINAL]. HYP. AVA. TYR. PHILO. [CARDINAL.] Go to, Master Zeal,[47] bring forth that heretic, Which doth thus disturb our religion catholic. HYPOCRISY. Room for my lord's grace! what! no manner reverence, But cap on head, Hodge, and that in a lord's presence? CARDINAL. What, Master Hypocrisy, I have stayed for you long. HYPOCRISY [_Aside_]. You were best crowd in, and play us among. CARDINAL. Where have you been from me so long absent? I appointed to have been here three hours ago, In my consistory to have sat in judgment Of that wretched schismatic that doth trouble us so. HYPOCRISY. What, have you caught but one, and no mo? In faith, father Avarice, you have plied your chaps well. AVARICE. I must needs confess that I am paid for my travail. TYRANNY. Room for the prisoner! what, room on each hand, Or I shall make some out of the way for to stand. Lo, here, my lord, is that seditious schismatic, That we have laid wait for, an arrant heretic. [_Enter_ PHILOLOGUS.]