+R. Royster.+ Yes, for although he had as many liues, As a thousande widowes, and a thousande wiues, As a thousande lyons, and a thousand rattes, A thousande wolues, and a thousande cattes, A thousande bulles, and a thousande calues, And a thousande legions diuided in halues, He shall neuer scape death on my swordes point, Though I shoulde be torne therfore ioynt by ioynt. +M. Mery.+ Nay, if ye will kyll him, I will not fette him, I will not in so muche extremitie sette him, He may yet amende sir, and be an honest man, Therfore pardon him good soule, as muche as ye can. +R. Royster.+ Well, for thy sake, this once with his lyfe he shall passe, But I wyll hewe hym all to pieces by the Masse. +M. Mery.+ Nay fayth ye shall promise that he shall no harme haue, Else I will not fet him. +R. Royster.+ I shall so God me saue. But I may chide him a good. +M. Mery.+ Yea that do hardely. +R. Royster.+ Go then. +M. Mery.+ I returne, and bring him to you by and by. _Ex._ Actus. iij. Scæna. v. +Roister Doister. Mathewe Merygreeke. Scriuener.+ +R. Royster.+ What is a gentleman but his worde and his promise? I must nowe saue this vilaines lyfe in any wise, And yet at hym already my handes doe tickle, I shall vneth holde them, they wyll be so fickle. But lo and Merygreeke haue not brought him sens? +M. Mery.+ Nay I woulde I had of my purse payde fortie pens. +Scriuener.+ So woulde I too: but it needed not that stounde, +M. Mery.+ But the ientman had rather spent fiue thousande pounde, For it disgraced him at least fiue tymes so muche. +Scriuener.+ He disgraced hym selfe, his loutishnesse is suche. +R. Royster.+ Howe long they stande prating? Why comst thou not away? +M. Mery.+ Come nowe to hymselfe, and hearke what he will say. +Scriuener.+ I am not afrayde in his presence to appeere. +R. Royster.+ Arte thou come felow? +Scriuener.+ How thinke you? am I not here? +R. Royster.+ What hindrance hast thou done me, and what villanie? +Scriuener.+ It hath come of thy selfe, if thou hast had any. +R. Royster.+ All the stocke thou comest of later or rather, From thy fyrst fathers grandfathers fathers father, Nor all that shall come of thee to the worldes ende, Though to three score generations they descende, Can be able to make me a iust recompense, For this trespasse of thine and this one offense. +Scriuener.+ Wherin? +R. Royster.+ Did not you make me a letter brother? +Scriuener.+ Pay the like hire, I will make you suche an other. +R. Royster.+ Nay see and these whooreson Phariseys and Scribes Doe not get their liuyng by polling and bribes. If it were not for shame. +Scriuener.+ Nay holde thy hands still. +M. Mery.+ Why did ye not promise that ye would not him spill? +Scriuener.+ Let him not spare me. +R. Royster.+ Why wilt thou strike me again? +Scriuener.+ Ye shall haue as good as ye bring of me that is plaine.