WASPE. It is no matter how; pray you look off. QUAR. Nay, I'll not offend you, Numps; I thought you had sat there to be seen. WASPE. And to be sold, did you not? pray you mind your business, an you have any. QUAR. Cry you mercy, Numps; does your leg lie high enough? _Enter HAGGISE._ BRI. How now, neighbour Haggise, what says justice Overdo's worship to the other offenders? HAG. Why, he says just nothing; what should he say, or where should he say? He is not to be found, man; he has not been seen in the Fair here all this live-long day, never since seven a clock i' the morning. His clerks know not what to think on't. There is no court of Pie-poudres yet. Here they be return'd. _Enter others of the Watch with BUSY._ BRI. What shall be done with them, then, in your discretion? HAG. I think we were best put them in the stocks in discretion (there they will be safe in discretion) for the valour of an hour, or such a thing, till his worship come. BRI. It is but a hole matter if we do, neighbour Haggise; come, sir, [_to Waspe._] here is company for you; heave up the stocks. [_As they open the stocks, Waspe puts his shoe on his hand, and slips it in for his leg._ WASPE. I shall put a trick upon your Welsh diligence perhaps. [_Aside._ BRI. Put in your leg, sir. [_To Busy._ QUAR. What, rabbi Busy! is he come? BUSY. I do obey thee; the lion may roar, but he cannot bite. I am glad to be thus separated from the heathen of the land, and put apart in the stocks, for the holy cause. WASPE. What are you, sir? BUSY. One that rejoiceth in his affliction, and sitteth here to prophesy the destruction of fairs and May-games, wakes and Whitson-ales, and doth sigh and groan for the reformation of these abuses. WASPE. [_to Overdo._] And do you sigh and groan too, or rejoice in your affliction? OVER. I do not feel it, I do not think of it, it is a thing without me: Adam, thou art above these batteries, these contumelies. _In te manca ruit fortuna_, as thy friend Horace says; thou art one, _Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula, terrent._ And therefore, as another friend of thine says, I think it be thy friend Persius, _Non te quæsiveris extra._ QUAR. What's here! a stoic in the stocks? the fool is turn'd philosopher. BUSY. Friend, I will leave to communicate my spirit with you, if I hear any more of those superstitious relics, those lists of Latin, the very rags of Rome, and patches of popery. WASPE. Nay, an you begin to quarrel, gentlemen, I'll leave you. I have paid for quarrelling too lately: look you, a device, but shifting in a hand for a foot. God be wi' you. [_Slips out his hand._ BUSY. Wilt thou then leave thy brethren in tribulation? WASPE. For this once, sir. [_Exit, running._ BUSY. Thou art a halting neutral; stay him there, stop him, that will not endure the heat of persecution. BRI. How now, what's the matter? BUSY. He is fled, he is fled, and dares not sit it out.