_L. Cheiny._ Is it so near night as it seems, Or will this black-faced evening have a shower? --What, Master Arden? you are well met, I have longed this fortnight’s day to speak with you: You are a stranger, man, in the Isle of Sheppy. 100 _Arden._ Your honour’s always! bound to do you service. _L. Cheiny._ Come you from London, and ne’er a man with you? _Arden._ My man’s coming after, but here’s My honest friend that came along with me. _L. Cheiny._ My Lord Protector’s man I take you to be. _Franklin._ Ay, my good lord, and highly bound to you. _L. Cheiny._ You and your friend come home and sup with me. _Arden._ I beseech your honour pardon me; I have made a promise to a gentleman, My honest friend, to meet him at my house; 110 The occasion is great, or else would I wait on you. _L. Cheiny._ Will you come to-morrow and dine with me, And bring your honest friend along with you? I have divers matters to talk with you about. _Arden._ To-morrow we’ll wait upon your honour. _L. Cheiny._ One of you stay my horse at the top of the hill. --What! Black Will? for whose purse wait you? Thou wilt be hanged in Kent, when all is done. _Will._ Not hanged, God save your honour; I am your bedesman, bound to pray for you. 120 _L. Cheiny._ I think thou ne’er said’st prayer in all thy life.-- One of you give him a crown:-- And, sirrah, leave this kind of life; If thou beest tainted for a penny-matter, And come in question, surely thou wilt truss. --Come, Master Arden, let us be going; Your way and mine lies four miles together. [_Exeunt. Manet Black Will and Shakebag._ _Will._ The devil break all your necks at four miles’ end! Zounds, I could kill myself for very anger! His lordship chops me in, 130 Even when my dag was levelled at his heart. I would his crown were molten down his throat. _Shakebag._ Arden, thou hast wondrous holy luck. Did ever man escape as thou hast done? Well, I’ll discharge my pistol at the sky, For by this bullet Arden might not die. _Here enters Greene._ _Greene._ What, is he down? is he dispatched? _Shakebag._ Ay, in health towards Feversham, to shame us all. _Greene._ The devil he is! why, sirs, how escaped he? _Shakebag._ When we were ready to shoot, 140 Comes my Lord Cheiny to prevent his death. _Greene._ The Lord of Heaven hath preserved him. _Will._ Preserved a fig! The Lord Cheiny hath preserved him, And bids him to a feast to his house at Shorlow. But by the way once more I’ll meet with him, And, if all the Cheinies in the world say no, I’ll have a bullet in his breast to-morrow. Therefore come, Greene, and let us to Feversham. _Greene._ Ay, and excuse ourselves to Mistress Arden: O, how she’ll chafe when she hears of this! 150 _Shakebag._ Why, I’ll warrant you she’ll think we dare not do it. _Will._ Why, then let us go, and tell her all the matter, And plat the news to cut him off to-morrow. [_Exeunt._ III. vi. 144. _Shorlow_ should be Shurland in Sheppey.