RED. A-a-and you be his la-lady, you are the La-Lady Fau-Fauconbridge, the Earl of Glo-Gloster's sister. ROB. I am so, fellow. RED. Y-y-your man B-B-Block here does no--nothing but f-f-flout m-me, a-and cr-cries _r-run Re-Redcap and s-s-see you f-f-father ha-ha-hang'd_. I sh-shall g-go-near to m-make m-murder, and he u-use it. ROB. Well, sirrah, leave your mocking, you were best, I'll bob your beetle head, and if you mock him. BLO. He's _run Redcap_. RED. La-la-law, ma-madam. ROB. Away, ye saucy fool; go, wait within. BLO. _Run, Redcap; run, Redcap_. [_Exit_. ROB. Art thou the porter's son, that was condemned about my brother Gloster? RED. Ay, G-G-God be with you, I am the p-p-porter's son, I m-must r-run to s-s-seek your b-br-brother. ROB. Well, drink that, fellow; if thou find my brother, be not too violent, and I'll reward thee. RED. I th-th-thank ye h-heartily; and I had not been cozened with Sk-Skink, I had no nee-need of these ja-jaunts, for Gl-Gloster was s-safe enough. _Enter_ BLOCK _and the_ PORTER _with his cloak muffled_. BLO. Ah, farewell, Redcap. RED. Fa-fare we-well, and be ha-hang'd. [_Exit_. ROB. You'll never leave your knavery. Who's there more. BLO. One, madam, that hath commendations to you from your brother. ROB. Comest thou from Gloster? thou art welcome, friend. BLO. O, it's one of the kindest ladies (though she will now and then have a bout with Block) that ever breath'd, and she had been in her mood now, Redcap would have made her such sp-sp-sport as 't a' pa-pa-pass'd. ROB. Will you make sport, and see who knocks again? BLO. Our gates are like an anvil; from four to ten, nothing but knick-a-knock upon't. ROB. Will you be gone, sir? [_Exit_ BLOCK.] Honest friend, I am glad My brother Gloster got thy liberty, Whose flight was cause of thy captivity: Nor shall there be in us such negligence, Though thou have lost thy office and thy house, But we will see thee better far provided Than when thou wert [the] Porter in the Fleet. _Re-enter_ BLOCK. BLO. Madam, your old friend, Prince Richard, All alone, Making moan, Fetching many a grievous groan. ROB. Prince Richard come so late? lights to his chamber; Sirrah, in any case, say I am sick. BLO. Very sick, sick, and like to die! I'll sing it, and you will. ROB. Away, ye knave; tell him, in the morning I'll humbly wait upon his excellence. BLO. That's all his desire to have ye lowly and humble, and 'tis a courteous thing in a lady. [_Exit_. ROB. Hence, or else I'll set you hence. Go in, good friend. Come, Lady Fauconbridge; it's time to come; Robin can hold out no longer, I see: Hot wooers will be tempters presently. [_Exit_. SCENE THE TWENTY-FIFTH. _Enter_ SKINK _like a Hermit_.