_M. Mery._ Couche on your marybones whooresons, down to the ground[!][434] 90 Was it meete he should tarie so long in one place Without harmonie of Musike, or some solace? C ii Who so hath suche bees as your maister in hys head, Had neede to have his spirites with Musike to be fed. By your maisterships licence [_picking something from his coat_]. _R. Royster._ What is that? a moate? 96 _M. Mery._ No it was a fooles feather[435] had light on your coate. _R. Roister._ I was nigh no feathers since I came from my bed. _M. Mery._ No sir, it was a haire that was fall from your hed. _R. Roister._ My men com when it plese them. _M. Mery._ By your leve. _R. Roister._ What is that? _M. Mery._ Your gown was foule spotted with the foot of a gnat. 100 _R. Roister._ Their maister to offende they are nothing afearde. What now? _M. Mery._ A lousy haire from your masterships beard. _Omnes famul_[_i_].[436] And sir for Nurses sake pardon this one offence. We shall not after this shew the like negligence. 104 _R. Royster._ I pardon you this once, and come sing nere the wurse. _M. Mery._ How like you the goodnesse of this gentleman[,] nurse? _M. Mumbl._ God save his maistership that so can his men forgeve, And I wyll heare them sing ere I go, by his leave. _R. Royster._ Mary and thou shalt wenche, come we two will daunce. _M. Mumbl._ Nay I will by myne owne selfe foote the song perchaunce. _R. Royster._ Go to it sirs lustily. 111 _M. Mumbl._ Pipe up a mery note, Let me heare it playde, I will foote it for a grote. _Cantent._[437] _R. Royster._ Now nurse take thys same letter here to thy mistresse. And as my trust is in thee plie my businesse. _M. Mumbl._ It shalbe done[!][438] 115 _M. Mery._ Who made it? _R. Royster._ I wrote it ech whit. _M. Mery._ Then nedes it no mending. _R. Royster._ No, no. _M. Mery._ No I know your wit. I warrant it wel. _M. Mumb._ It shal be delivered. But if ye speede, shall I be considered? _M. Mery._ Whough, dost thou doubt of that? _Madge._ What shal I have? 119 _M. Mery._ An hundred times more than thou canst devise to crave. _M. Mumbl._ Shall I have some newe geare? for my olde is all spent. _M. Mery._ The worst kitchen wench shall goe in ladies rayment. _M. Mumbl._ Yea? _M. Mery._ And the worst drudge in the house shal go better Than your mistresse doth now. _Mar._ Then I trudge with your letter. [_Exit._] _R. Royster._ Now may I repose me: Custance is mine owne. C ii _b_ Let us sing and play homeward that it may be knowne. 126