_Host._ Thou valiant Knight of the _burning Pestle_, give ear to me, there is twelve shillings to pay, and as I am a true Knight, I will not bate a penny. _Wife. George_, I prethee tell me, must _Rafe_ pay twelve shillings now? _Cit._ No, _Nel_, no, nothing but the old Knight is merry with _Rafe_. _Wife._ O is't nothing else? _Rafe_ will be as merry as he. _Rafe._ Sir Knight, this mirth of yours becomes you well, But to requite this liberal courtesie, If any of your Squires will follow Arms, He shall receive from my Heroick hand A Knig[h]thood, by the virtue of this Pestle. _Host._ Fair Knight, I thank you for your noble offer, Therefore gentle Knight, Twelve shillings you must pay, or I must cap you. _Wife._ Look _George_, did not I tell thee as much, the Knight of the _Bell_ is in earnest, _Rafe_ shall not be beholding to him, give him his money _George_, and let him go snick up. _Cit._ Cap _Rafe_? no, hold your hand sir Knight of the _Bell_, there's your Money, have you any thing to say to _Rafe_ now? cap _Rafe_? _Wife._ I would you should know it, _Rafe_ has friends that will not suffer him to be capt for ten times so much, and ten times to the end of that, now take thy course _Rafe_. _Mist. mer._ Come _Michael_, thou and I will go home to thy father, he hath enough left to keep us a day or two, and we'll set fellows abroad to cry our Purse and Casket: Shall we _Michael_? _Mich._ I, I pray mother, in truth my feet are full of chilblains with travelling. _Wife._ Faith and those chilblaines are a foul trouble, Mistris _Merry-thought_ when your youth comes home, let him rub all the soles of his feet, and his heels, and his ankles, with a Mouseskin; or if none of your [people] can catch a Mouse, when he goes to bed, let him rowl his feet in the warm embers, and I warrant you he shall be well, and you may make him put his fingers between his toes, and smell to them, it's very soveraign for his head, if he be costive. _Mist. mer._ Master Knight of the burning Pestle, my son _Michael_, and I bid you farewell, I thank your Worship hartily for your kindness. _Rafe._ Fare-well fair Lady, and your tender Squire. If pricking through these Desarts, I do hear Of any traiterous Knight who through his guile, Hath light upon your Casket and your Purse, I will despoil him of them and restore them. _Mist. mer._ I thank your Worship. [_Exit with Michael._ _Rafe._ Dwarf bear my shield, Squire elevate my lance, And now farewell you Knight of holy _Bell_. _Cit._ I, I _Rafe_, all is paid. _Rafe._ But yet before I go, speak worthy Knight, If [ought] you do of sad adventures know, Where errant Knights may through his prowess win Eternal fame, and free some gentle souls, From endless [bonds] of steel and lingring pain.