_Enter Keepers and She-fools._ _Alph._ Mad Gallants; Most admirable mad; I love their faces. _1 Keep._ Ye stinking Whore, who knew of this? who lookt to him? 'Pox take him, he was sleepy when I left him. _2 Keep._ Certain he made the fool drunk. _Mast._ How now, who's this here? Where is the Boy? _1 Keep._ The Boy, Sir? _Mast._ I, the Boy, Sir. _1 Keep._ Here's all the Boys we found. _Mast._ These are his Cloaths. But where's the Boy? _She-fool._ The Boy is gone a Maying, He'll bring me home a Cuckows Nest; do you hear, _Master_? I put my Cloaths off, and I dizen'd him, And pin'd a Plum in's forehead, and a feather, And buss'd him twice, and bid him go seek his fortune; He gave me this fine money, and fine Wine too, And bid me sop; and gave me these trim Cloaths too, And put 'em on. _Alph._ Is this the Boy you would shew? _She-fool._ I'll give you two pence, Master. _Alph._ Am I fool'd of all sides? I met a fool i'th' Woods, they said she dwelt here, In a long pied Coat. _Mast._ That was the very Boy, Sir. _She-f._ I, I, I, I gave him leave to play, forsooth, He'll come again to morrow, and bring peascods. _Mast._ I'll bring your bones. _Alph._ 'Pox o' your fools, and Bedlams, 'Plague o' your Owls and Apes. _Mast._ 'Pray ye, Sir, be tamer, We cannot help this presently, but we shall know; I'll recompence your Care too. _Alph._ Know me, a pudding, You juggle, and ye riddle; fart upon ye; I am abused. _Mast._ 'Pray ye, Sir. [_Welsh madman._ _Alph._ And I will be abused, Sir, And you shall know I am abused. _Welsh._ Whaw, Mr. Keeper. _Alph._ 'Pox o' thy whaws, and thy whyms, 'Pox o' thy urship. _Wel._ Give me some Ceeze, and Onions; give me some wash-brew, I have ---- in my bellies, give me abundance, _Pendragon_ was a Shentleman, marg you, Sir, And the Organs at _Rixum_ were made by Revelations, There is a spirit blows, and blows the Bellows, And then they sing. _Alph._ What Moon-calf's this? what dream? _Mast._ 'Pray ye, Sir, observe him, He is a Mountaineer, a man of _Goteland_. _Welsh._ I will beat thy face as black as a blue Clout, I will leave no more sheet in thine eyes. _Mast._ He will not hurt ye. _Welsh._ Give me a great deal of Guns; thou art the Devils, I know thee by thy tails; poor _Owen's_ hungry, I will peg thy bums full of Bullets. _Alph._ This is the rarest Rascal, He speaks as if he had butter-milk in's mouth, Is this any thing akin to th' _English_? _Mast._ The elder Brother, Sir, He run mad because a Rat eat up's Cheese. _Alph._ H'ad a great deal of reason, Sir. _Welsh. Basilus manus_, is for an old Codpiss, mark ye, I will borrow thy Urships Whore to seal a Letter.