_Merch._ Where abouts? _Jasp._ No more of this, now to my self again. _Hum._ There, there he stands with Sword like martial Knight. Drawn in his hand, therefore beware the fight You that are wise: for were I good Sir _Bevis_, I would not stay his coming, by your leaves. _Merc._ Sirrah, restore my daughter. _Jasp._ Sirrah, no. _Merch._ Upon him then. _Wife._ So, down with him, down with him, down with him: cut him i'the leg boyes, cut him i'th' leg. _Merc._ Come your ways Minion, I'll provide a Cage for you, you're grown so tame. Horse her away. _Hum._ Truly I'm glad your forces have the day. [_Exeunt manet Jasper._ _Jasp._ They are gone, and I am hurt, my Love is lost, Never to get again. Oh me unhappy! Bleed, bleed, and dye, I cannot: Oh my folly! Thou hast betray'd me, Hope where art thou fled? Tell me if thou be'st any where remaining. Shall I but see my love again? Oh no! She will not dain to look upon her Butcher, Nor is [it] fit she should; yet I must venter. Oh chance, or fortune, or what ere thou art That men adore for powerful, hear my cry, And let me loving live; or loosing dye. [_Exit_] _Wife._ Is a gone _George_? _Cit._ I conny. _Wife._ Marry and let him go (sweet heart) by the faith a my body a has put me into such a fright, that I tremble (as they say) as 'twere an Aspine leaf: look a my little finger _George_, how it shakes: now in truth every member of my body is the worse for't. _Cit._ Come, hug in mine arms sweet Mouse, he shall not fright thee any more: alass mine own dear heart how it quivers. _Enter_ Mistris Merry-thought, Rafe, Michael, Squire, Dwar[f]e, Host, _and a_ Tapster. _Wife._ O _Rafe_, how dost thou _Rafe_? how hast thou slept to night? has the Knight us'd thee well? _Cit._ Peace _Nell_, let _Rafe_ alone. _Tapst._ Master, the reckoning is not paid. _Rafe._ Right courteous Knight, who for the orders sake Which thou hast tane, hang'st out the holy _Bell_, As I this flaming Pestle bear about, We render thanks to your puissant self, Your beauteous Lady, and your gentle Squires, For thus refreshing of our wearied limbs, Stifned with hard atchievements in wild Desart. _Tapst._ Sir, there is twelve shillings to pay. _Rafe._ Thou merry Squire _Tapstero_, thanks to thee, For comforting our souls with double Jug, And if adventurous Fortune prick thee forth, Thou jovial Squire, to follow feats of Arms, Take heed thou tender every Ladies cause, Every true Knight, and every Damsel fair But spill the blood of treacherous _Sarazens_, And false inchanters, that with Magick spels, Have done to death full many a noble Knight.