SKINK. At the Angel. RED. A-Angel, the La-La-Lady Fa-Fa-Fauconbridge, Fa-Fan-Fanconbridge. SKINK. Farewell and be hang'd, good stammering ninny, I think I have set your Redcap's heels a-running, would your pianot-chattering humour could as sa-safely se-set me fr-from the searchers' walks. Yonder comes some one. 'Hem! Skink, to your tricks this titty titty. Ah, the tongue, I believe, will fail me.[468] SCENE THE SEVENTH. _Enter_ CONSTABLE _and_ WATCH. CON. Come, make up to this fellow, let th'other go, he seems a gentleman. [_Exit_ REDCAP _dressed as_ SKINK.] What are you, sir? SKINK. Would I had kept my own suit, if the countenance carry it away. CON. Stand, sirrah, what are you? SKINK. The po-po-porter's son of the F-Fl-Fleet, going to Stepney about business to the La-La-Lady Fa-Fa-Fauconbridge. CON. Well, bring him thither, some two or three of ye, honest neighbours, and so back to the Fleet; we'll show ourselves diligent above other officers. SKINK. Wh-wh-why, le-le-let me run. I am Re-Redcap. CON. Well, sure you shall now run no faster than I lead you, hear ye, neighbour Simmes, I leave my staff with ye; be vigilant, I pray you, search the suspicious houses at the town's end; this Skink's a trouncer. Come, will you be gone, sir? SKINK. Yes, sir, and the devil go with you and them, Well, yet have hope, mad ha-heart; co-co-come your way. [_Exeunt_. SCENE THE EIGHTH. _Enter_ ROBIN HOOD _and_ BLOCK. BLO. Sweet nobility in reversion, Block, by the commission of his head, conjures you and withal binds you, by all the tricks that pages pass in time of Parliament, as swearing to the pantable,[469] crowning with custards, paper-whiffs to the sleepers' noses, cutting of tags, stealing of torches, _cum multis aliis_--tell, Block, what block you have cast in the way of my lady's content! ROB. Block, by the antiquity of your ancestry, I have given your lady not so much as the least cause of dislike; if she be displeased at any news I bring, it's more than I must blab. BLO. Zounds, these pages be so proud, they care not for an old servingman; you are a ward and so an earl, and no more: you disquiet our house--that's the most; and I may be even with thee--that's the least. _Enter the_ LADY FAUCONBRIDGE. LADY F. What, Block, what, Block, I say! what do you there? BLO. Making the young lord merry, madam. LADY F. Go, attend the gate; See if you can let in more grief thereat. BLO. Zounds, and grief come in there; and I see Him once, I'll conjure his gaberdine. [_Aside_. LADY F. Will you be gone, sir? BLO. Hem! these women, these women! And she be not in love either with Prince Richard or this lad, let Block's head be made a chopping-block. [_Exit BLOCK_. ROB. Fair madam, what reply you to my suit? The prince expects[470] smiles, welcomes, loving looks.