_Ferryman._ I came to help him that called for help. Why, how now? who is this that’s in the ditch? You are well enough served to go without a guide such weather as this. _Will._ Sirrah, what companies hath passed your ferry this morning? 30 _Ferryman._ None but a couple of gentlemen, that went to dine at my Lord Cheiny’s. _Will._ Shakebag, did not I tell thee as much? Ferryman. Why, sir, will you have any letters carried to them? _Will._ No, sir; get you gone. _Ferryman._ Did you ever see such a mist as this? _Will._ No, nor such a fool as will rather be hought than get his way. _Ferryman._ Why, sir, this is no Hough-Monday; you are deceived.--What’s his name, I pray you, sir? 41 _Shakebag._ His name is Black Will. _Ferryman._ I hope to see him one day hanged upon a hill. [_Exit Ferryman._ _Shakebag._ See how the sun hath cleared the foggy mist, Now we have missed the mark of our intent. _Here enters Greene, Mosbie, and Alice._ _Mosbie._ Black Will and Shakebag, what make you here? What, is the deed done? is Arden dead? _Will._ What could a blinded man perform in arms? Saw you not how till now the sky was dark, 50 That neither horse nor man could be discerned? Yet did we hear their horses as they passed. _Greene._ Have they escaped you, then, and passed the ferry? _Shakebag_. Ay, for a while; but here we two will stay, And at their coming back meet with them once more. Zounds, I was ne’er so toiled in all my life In following so slight a task as this. _Mosbie._ How cam’st thou so berayed? _Will._ With making false footing in the dark; He needs would follow them without a guide. 60 _Alice._ Here’s to pay for a fire and good cheer: Get you to Feversham to the Flower-de-luce, And rest yourselves until some other time. _Greene._ Let me alone; it most concerns my state. _Will._ Ay, Mistress Arden, this will serve the turn, In case we fall into a second fog. [_Exeunt Greene, Will, and Shakebag._ _Mosbie._ These knaves will never do it, let us give it over. _Alice._ First tell me how you like my new device: Soon, when my husband is returning back, You and I both marching arm in arm, 70 Like loving friends, we’ll meet him on the way, And boldly beard and brave him to his teeth. When words grow hot and blows begin to rise, I’ll call those cutters forth your tenement, Who, in a manner to take up the fray, Shall wound my husband Hornsby to the death. _Mosbie._ A fine device! why, this deserves a kiss. [_Exeunt._ IV. iii. 40. Hock Monday followed the second Sunday after Easter. See Brand’s _Popular Antiquities_. IV. iii. 68. Our poet blackens Mosbie for the same reason that he whitewashes Arden, _e.g._: ‘Master Arden both then and at other times had been greatly provoked by Mosbie to fight with him, but he would not.’ ‘Mosby at the first would not agree to that cowardly murdering of him.’--Holinshed. SCENE IV _The open country._ _Here enters Dick Reede and a Sailor._