FRIS. O monstrous! who would think my master had so much wit in his old rotten budget? and yet, i' faith he is not much troubled with it neither. Why, what wise man in a kingdom would send me for the Dutchman? Does he think I'll not cozen him? O fine, I'll have the bravest sport! O brave, I'll have the gallantest sport! O, come now, if I can hold behind, while I may laugh a while, I care not. Ha, ha, ha! _Enter_ ANTHONY. ANTH. Why, how now, Frisco; why laughest thou so heartily? FRIS. Laugh, Master Mouse, laugh! Ha, ha, ha! ANTH. Laugh! why should I laugh? or why art thou so merry? FRIS. O Master Mouse, Master Mouse! it would make any mouse, rat, cat, or dog laugh, to think what sport we shall have at our house soon at night. I'll tell you all: my young mistress sent me after Master Heigham and his friends to pray them come to our house, after my old master was abed. Now I went, and I went; and I run, and I went; and whom should I meet but my master Pisaro[517] and the strangers; so my master very worshipfully (I must needs say) examined me whither I went. Now, I durst not tell him an untruth, for fear of lying; but told him plainly and honestly mine errand. Now, who would think my master had such a monstrous plaguy wit? he was as glad as could be; out of all Scotch-and-notch glad; out of all count glad: and so, sirrah, he bid the three uplandishmen come in their steads, and woo my young mistresses. Now it made me so laugh to think how they would be cozened, that I could not follow my master. But I'll follow him: I know he has gone to the tavern in his merry humour. Now, if you will keep this as secret as I have done hitherto, we shall have the bravest sport soon, as can be. I must be gone: say nothing. [_Exit._ ANTH. Well, it is so; And we will have good sport, or it shall go hard: This must the wenches know, or all is marr'd. _Enter the three Sisters._ Hark you, Miss Mall, Miss Laurentia, Miss Mat: I have such news (my girls) will make you smile. MAR. What be they, master? how I long to hear it! ANTH. A woman right, still longing and with child For everything they hear or light upon. Well, if you be mad wenches, hear it now. Now may your knaveries give the deadliest blow To night-walkers, eavesdroppers, or outlandlish love, That e'er was stricken. MATH. Anthony La Mouche, Move but the matter--tell us but the jest; And if you find us slack to execute, Never give credence, or believe us more.