_M. Mery._ He is ashamed the numbre of them to shewe. Een rounde about him, as many thousande sheepe goes, 55 As he and thou and I too, have fingers and toes. _M. Mumbl._ And how many yeares olde be you? _R. Royster._ Fortie at lest. _M. Mery._ Yea and thrice fortie to them. C i _b_ _R. Royster._ Nay now thou dost jest. I am not so olde, thou misreckonest my yeares. 59 _M. Mery._ I know that: but my minde was on bullockes and steeres. _M. Mumbl._ And what shall I shewe hir your masterships name is? _R. Royster._ Nay she shall make sute ere she know that ywis. _M. Mumbl._ Yet let me somewhat knowe. _M. Mery._ This is hee[,] understand, That killed the blewe Spider[427] in Blanchepouder[428] lande. _M. Mumbl._ Yea _Jesus_[!] William[!] zee law[!] dyd he zo[?] law[!] 65 _M. Mery._ Yea and the last Elephant[429] that ever he sawe, As the beast passed by, he start out of a buske,[430] And een with pure strength of armes pluckt out his great tuske. _M. Mumbl._ _Jesus, nomine patris_ [_crossing herself_], what a thing was that? _R. Roister._ Yea but Merygreke one thing thou hast forgot. 70 _M. Mery._ What? _R. Royster._ Of thother Elephant. _M. Mery._ Oh hym that fledde away. _R. Royster._ Yea. _M. Mery._ Yea he knew that his match was in place that day Tut, he bet the king of Crickets[431] on Christmasse day, That he crept in a hole, and not a worde to say. _M. Mumbl._ A sore man by zembletee.[432] 75 _M. Mery._ Why, he wrong a club Once in a fray out of the hande of Belzebub. _R. Royster._ And how when Mumfision? _M. Mery._ Oh your coustrelyng[433] Bore the lanterne a fielde so before the gozelyng. Nay that is to long a matter now to be tolde: Never aske his name Nurse, I warrant thee, be bolde, 80 He conquered in one day from _Rome_, to _Naples_, And woonne Townes[,] nourse[,] as fast as thou canst make Apples. _M. Mumbl._ O Lorde, my heart quaketh for feare: he is to sore. _R. Royster._ Thou makest hir to much afearde, Merygreeke no more. This tale woulde feare my sweete heart Custance right evill. _M. Mery._ Nay let hir take him Nurse, and feare not the devill. 86 But thus is our song dasht. [_To the musicians_] Sirs ye may home againe. _R. Royster._ No shall they not. I charge you all here to remaine: The villaine slaves[!] a whole day ere they can be founde.