HOST. If I go steal any more venison, I am a paradox: foot, I can scarce bear the sin of my flesh in the day, 'tis so heavy: if I turn not honest, and serve the good Duke of Norfolk as a true mareterraneum skinker[304] should do, let me never look higher than the element of a constable. MILLER. By the mass, there are some watchmen; I hear them name master constable: I would my mill were an eunuch, and wanted her stones, so I were hence. HOST. Who's there? MILLER. Tis the constable, by this light: I'll steal hence, and if I can meet mine host Blague, I'll tell him how Smug is ta'en, and will him to look to himself. [_Exit._ HOST. What the devil is that white thing? this same is a churchyard, and I have heard that ghosts and villanous goblins have been seen here. _Enter_ SEXTON _and_ PRIEST. PRIEST. Grass and hay! O, that I could conjure! we saw a spirit here in the churchyard; and in the fallow field there's the devil with a man's body upon his back in a white sheet. SEX. It may be a woman's body, Sir John. PRIEST. If she be a woman, the sheets damn her. Lord bless us, what a night of mortality is this! HOST. Priest! PRIEST. Mine host! HOST. Did you not see a spirit all in white cross you at the stile? SEX. O no, mine host; but there sat one in the porch: I have not breath enough left to bless me from the devil. HOST. Who's that? PRIEST. The sexton, almost frightened out of his wits. Did you see Banks or Smug? HOST. No, they are gone to Waltham, sure. I would fain hence; come, let's to my house: I'll ne'er serve the Duke of Norfolk in this fashion again whilst I breathe. If the devil be among us, it's time to hoist sail, and cry roomer.[305] Keep together; sexton, thou art secret. What! let's be comfortable one to another. PRIEST. We are all mortal, mine host. HOST. True; and I'll serve God in the night hereafter afore the Duke of Norfolk. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ SIR ARTHUR CLARE _and_ SIR RALPH JERNINGHAM,[306] _trussing their points, as newly up._ SIR RALPH. Good-morrow, gentle knight; A happy day after your short night's rest. SIR ARTH. Ha, ha! Sir Ralph, stirring so soon indeed? By'r Lady, sir, rest would have done right well: Our riding late last night has made me drowsy. Go to, go to, those days are gone with us.