BRI. How now, all 'scaped! where's the woman? it is witchcraft! her velvet hat is a witch, o' my conscience, or my key! the one.--The madman was a devil, and I am an ass; so bless me, my place, and mine office! [_Exeunt, affrighted._ ACT V SCENE I.--_The Fair, as before._ A Booth. _LANTHORN LEATHERHEAD, dressed as a puppet-show man, FILCHER, and SHARKWELL with a flag._ LEATH. Well, luck and Saint Bartholomew! out with the sign of our invention, in the name of wit, and do you beat the drum the while: all the foul i' the Fair, I mean all the dirt in Smithfield,--that's one of master Littlewit's carwhitchets now--will be thrown at our banner to-day, if the matter does not please the people. O the motions that I Lanthorn Leatherhead have given light to, in my time, since my master Pod died! Jerusalem was a stately thing, and so was Nineveh, and the city of Norwich, and Sodom and Gomorrah, with the rising of the prentices, and pulling down the bawdy-houses there upon Shrove-Tuesday; but the Gun-powder plot, there was a get-penny! I have presented that to an eighteen or twenty pence audience, nine times in an afternoon. Your home-born projects prove ever the best, they are so easy and familiar; they put too much learning in their things now o' days: and that I fear will be the spoil of this. Littlewit! I say, Micklewit! if not too mickle! look to your gathering there, goodman Filcher. FILCH. I warrant you, sir. LEATH. An there come any gentlefolks, take two-pence apiece, Sharkwell. SHARK. I warrant you, sir, three-pence an we can. [_Exeunt._ SCENE II.--_Another part of the Fair._ _Enter OVERDO, disguised like a Porter._ OVER. This latter disguise, I have borrow'd of a porter, shall carry me out to all my great and good ends; which however interrupted, were never destroyed in me: neither is the hour of my severity yet come to reveal myself, wherein, cloud-like, I will break out in rain and hail, lightning and thunder, upon the head of enormity. Two main works I have to prosecute: first, one is to invent some satisfaction for the poor kind wretch, who is out of his wits for my sake, and yonder I see him coming, I will walk aside, and project for it. _Enter WINWIFE and GRACE._ WINW. I wonder where Tom Quarlous is, that he returns not: it may be he is struck in here to seek us. GRACE. See, here's our madman again. _Enter QUARLOUS, in TROUBLEALL'S clothes, followed by DAME PURECRAFT._ QUAR. I have made myself as like him, as his gown and cap will give me leave. PURE. Sir, I love you, and would be glad to be mad with you in truth. WINW. How! my widow in love with a madman? PURE. Verily, I can be as mad in spirit as you. QUAR. By whose warrant? leave your canting. Gentlewoman, have I found you? [_To mistress Grace._] save ye, quit ye, and multiply ye! Where's your book? 'twas a sufficient name I mark'd, let me see't, be not afraid to shew't me. GRACE. What would you with it, sir? QUAR. Mark it again and again at your service.