_Host._ A rank whore scratch their sides till the pox follow For robbing thee, thou hast a thousand ways To rob thy self boy, Dice, and a Chamber-Devil. _Leo._ Ye are deceiv'd Sir. _Host._ And thy Master too boy. _Phil._ A sweet-fac'd boy indeed: what rogues were these? What barbarous, brutish slaves to strip this beauty? _Theo._ Come hither my boy: alas! he's cold, mine Host, We must intreat your Cloak. _Host._ Can ye intreat it. _Phil._ We do presume so much, you have other garments. _Host._ Will you intreat those too? _Theo._ Your Mule must too, To the next Town, you say 'tis near: in pitty You cannot see this poor Boy perish. I know ye have a better soul, we'll satisfie ye. _Host._ 'Tis a strange foolish trick I have, but I cannot help it, I am ever cozen'd with mine own commendations; It is determin'd then I shall be robb'd too. To make up vantage to this dozen: here Sir, Heaven has provided ye a simple garment To set ye off: pray keep it handsomer Than you kept your own; and let me have it render'd, Brush'd and discreetly folded. _Leo._ I thank ye Sir. _Host._ Who wants a Doublet? _2._ I. _Host._ Where will you have it? _2._ From you Sir, if you please. _Host._ Oh, there's the point, Sir. _Phil._ My honest friends, I am sorry for your fortunes, But that's but poor relief: here are ten Duckets, And to your distribution, holy Sir, I render 'em: and let it be your care To see 'em, as your wants are, well divided. _Host._ Plain dealing now my friends: and Father Fryer, Set me the Sadle right; no wringing Fryer, Nor tithing to the Church, these are no duties; Scour me your conscience, if the Devil tempt ye Off with [y]our cord, and swinge him. _Fry._ Ye say well Sir. _All._ Heaven keep your goodness. _Theo._ Peace keep you, farewel friends. _Host._ Farewel light-Horse-men. [_Ex. the rob'd._ _Phil._ Which way travel you Sir. _Bayl._ To the next Town. _Theo._ Do you want any thing. _Bayl._ Only discretion to travel at good hours, And some warm meat to moderate this matter, For I am most outragious cruel hungry. _Host._ I have a stomach too such as it is. Would pose a right good pasty, I thank heaven for't. _Bayl._ Cheese, that would break the teeth of a new handsaw, I could endure now like an Oastrich, or salt beef, That _Cesar_ left in pickel. _Phil._ Take no care, We'll have meat for you, and enough: I'th' mean time Keep you the horse way, lest the fellow miss us, We'll meet ye at the end o'th' wood. _Host._ Make haste then. [_Ex. Host and Bayl._ _Theo._ My pretty Sir till your necessities Be full supplied, so please you trust our friendships, We must not part.