_Thras._ Fear not; let's go; I'll quiet her, shalt see. [_Exeunt._ _Oseas._ Fly, judges, fly corruption in your court; The judge of truth hath made your judgment short. Look so to judge that at the latter day Ye be not judg'd with those that wend astray. Who passeth judgment for his private gain, He well may judge he is adjudg'd to pain. SCENE III.--_A Street near the_ King's _Palace._ _Enter_ ADAM _and his crew of_ Ruffians _drunk._ _Adam._ Farewell, gentle tapster.--Masters, as good ale as ever was tapt; look to your feet, for the ale is strong.--Well, farewell, gentle tapster. _First Ruf._ [_to Second Ruf._] Why, sirrah slave, by heaven's maker, thinkest thou the wench loves thee best because she laughed on thee? give me but such another word, and I will throw the pot at thy head. _Adam._ Spill no drink, spill no drink, the ale is good: I'll tell you what, ale is ale, and so I'll commend me to you with hearty commendations.--Farewell, gentle tapster. _Second Ruf._ Why, wherefore, peasant, scornest thou that the wench should love me? look but on her, and I'll thrust my dagger in thy bosom. _First Ruf._ Well, sirrah, well, tha'rt as tha'rt, and so I'll take thee. _Second Ruf._ Why, what am I? _First Ruf._ Why, what thou wilt; a slave. _Second Ruf._ Then take that, villain, and learn how thou use me another time. [_Stabs_ First Ruf. _First Ruf._ O, I am slain! [_Dies._ _Second Ruf._ That's all one to me, I care not. Now will I in to my wench, and call for a fresh pot. [_Exit: followed by all except_ ADAM. _Adam._ Nay, but hear ye, take me with ye, for the ale is ale.--Cut a fresh toast, tapster, fill me a pot; here is money, I am no beggar, I'll follow thee as long as the ale lasts.--A pestilence on the blocks for me, for I might have had a fall: well, if we shall have no ale, I'll sit me down: and so farewell, gentle tapster. [_Here he falls over the dead man._ _Enter_ RASNI, ALVIDA, _the_ KING OF CILICIA, Lords, _and_ Attendants. _Rasni._ What slaughter'd wretch lies bleeding here his last, So near the royal palace of the king? Search out if any one be biding nigh, That can discourse the manner of his death.-- Seat thee, fair Alvida, the fair of fairs; Let not the object once offend thine eyes. _First Lord._ Here's one sits here asleep, my lord. _Rasni._ Wake him, and make inquiry of this thing. _First Lord._ Sirrah, you! hearest thou, fellow? _Adam._ If you will fill a fresh pot, here's a penny, or else farewell, gentle tapster. _First Lord._ He is drunk, my lord. _Rasni._ We'll sport with him, that Alvida may laugh. _First Lord._ Sirrah, thou fellow, thou must come to the king. _Adam._ I will not do a stroke of work to-day, for the ale is good ale, and you can ask but a penny for a pot, no more by the statute. _First Lord._ Villain, here's the king; thou must come to him.