DOLL. Murder! murder! murder! ALE MAN. Hold! as you are men, hold! for God’s sake be quiet! Put up your weapons; you draw not in my house. HARPOOLE. You whoreson bawdy priest! WROTHAM. You old mutton monger! CONSTABLE. Hold, sir John, hold! DOLL. [To the Priest.] I pray thee, sweet hear, be quiet. I was but sitting to drink a pot of ale with him, even as kind a man as ever I met with. HARPOOLE. Thou art a thief, I warrant thee. WROTHAM. Then I am but as thou hast been in thy days. Let’s not be ashamed of our trade; the King has been a thief himself. DOLL. Come, be quiet. Hast thou sped? WROTHAM. I have, wench: here be crowns, yfaith. DOLL. Come, let’s be all friends then. CONSTABLE. Well said, mistress Dorothy, yfaith. HARPOOLE. Thou art the maddest priest that ever I met with. WROTHAM. Give me thy hand, thou art as good a fellow. I am a singer, a drinker, a bencher, a wencher! I can say a mass, and kiss a lass! Faith, I have a parsonage, and because I would not be at too much charges, this wench serves me for a sexton. HARPOOLE. Well said, mad priest, we’ll in and be friends. [Exeunt.] ACT II. SCENE II. London. A room in the Axe Inn, without Bishop-gate. [Enter sir Roger Acton, master Bourne, master Beverly, and William Murley the brewer of Dunstable.] ACTON. Now, master Murley, I am well assured You know our arrant, and do like the cause, Being a man affected as we are. MURLEY. Mary, God dild ye, dainty my dear! no master, good sir Roger Acton Knight, master Bourne, and master Beverly esquires, gentlemen, and justices of the peace—no master I, but plain William Murley, the brewer of Dunstable, your honest neighbour, and your friend, if ye be men of my profession. BEVERLY. Professed friends to Wickliffe, foes to Rome. MURLEY. Hold by me, lad; lean upon that staff, good master Beverly: all of a house. Say your mind, say your mind. ACTON. You know our faction now is grown so great, Throughout the realm, that it begins to smoke Into the Clergy’s eyes, and the King’s ear. High time it is that we were drawn to head, Our general and officers appointed; And wars, ye wot, will ask great store of coin. Able to strength our action with your purse, You are elected for a colonel Over a regiment of fifteen bands. MURLEY. Fue, paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro! be it more or less, upon occasion. Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is this! Sir Roger Acton, I am but a Dunstable man, a plain brewer, ye know: will lusty Cavaliering captains, gentlemen, come at my calling, go at my bidding? Dainty my dear, they’ll do a god of wax, a horse or cheese, a prick and a pudding. No, no, ye must appoint some lord, or knight at least, to that place. BOURNE. Why, master Murley, you shall be a Knight: Were you not in election to be shrieve? Have ye not past all offices but that? Have ye not wealth to make your wife a lady? I warrant you, my lord, our General Bestows that honor on you at first sight.