_Will._ And he shall buy his merriment as dear 40 As ever coistril bought so little sport: Ne’er let this sword assist me when I need, But rust and canker after I have sworn, If I, the next time that I meet the hind, Lop not away his leg, his arm, or both. _Shakebag._ And let me never draw a sword again, Nor prosper in the twilight, cockshut light, When I would fleece the wealthy passenger, But lie and languish in a loathsome den, Hated and spit at by the goers-by, 50 And in that death may die unpitied, If I, the next time that I meet the slave, Cut not the nose from off the coward’s face And trample on it for this villainy. _Will._ Come, let’s go seek out Greene; I know he’ll swear. _Shakebag._ He were a villain, an he would not swear. ’Twould make a peasant swear among his boys, That ne’er durst say before but ‘yea’ and ‘no,’ To be thus flouted of a coistril. _Will._ Shakebag, let’s seek out Greene, and in the morning 60 At the alehouse butting Arden’s house Watch the out-coming of that prick-eared cur, And then let me alone to handle him. [_Exeunt._ III. ii. 47. A _cockshut_ was a large net used to catch woodcocks after sunset. Cf. ‘Cockshut time.’--_Richard III._, V. iii. 70. SCENE III _Room in Franklin’s house as before._ _Here enters Arden, Franklin, and Michael._ _Arden._ Sirrah, get you back to Billingsgate And learn what time the tide will serve our turn; Come to us in Paul’s. First go make the bed, And afterwards go hearken for the flood. [_Exit Michael._ Come, Master Franklin, you shall go with me. This night I dreamt that, being in a park, A toil was pitched to overthrow the deer, And I upon a little rising hill Stood whistly watching for the herd’s approach. Even there, methoughts, a gentle slumber took me, 10 And summoned all my parts to sweet repose; But in the pleasure of this golden rest An ill-thewed foster had removed the toil, And rounded me with that beguiling home Which late, methought, was pitched to cast the deer. With that he blew an evil-sounding horn, And at the noise another herdman came, With falchion drawn, and bent it at my breast, Crying aloud, ‘Thou art the game we seek!’ With this I woke and trembled every joint, 20 Like one obscured in a little bush, That sees a lion foraging about, And, when the dreadful forest-king is gone, He pries about with timorous suspect Throughout the thorny casements of the brake, And will not think his person dangerless, But quakes and shivers, though the cause be gone: So, trust me, Franklin, when I did awake, I stood in doubt whether I waked or no: Such great impression took this fond surprise. 30 God grant this vision bedeem me any good. _Franklin._ This fantasy doth rise from Michael’s fear, Who being awaked with the noise he made, His troubled senses yet could take no rest; And this, I warrant you, procured your dream. _Arden._ It may be so, God frame it to the best: But oftentimes my dreams presage too true.