MURLEY. Come, my hearts of flint, modestly, decently, soberly, and handsomely, no man afore his Leader; follow your master, your Captain, your Knight that shall be, for the honor of Meal-men, Millers, and Malt-men. Dunne is the mouse. Dick and tom, for the credit of Dunstable, ding down the enemy to morrow; ye shall not come into the field like beggars. Where be Leonard and Laurence, my two loaders? Lord have mercy upon us, what a world is this? I would give a couple of shillings for a dozen of good feathers for ye, and forty pence for as many scarfs to set ye out withal. Frost and snow! a man has no heart to fight till he be brave. DICK. Master, I hope we be no babes. For our manhood, our bucklers and our town foot-balls can bear witness: and this light parrel we have shall off, and we’ll fight naked afore we run away. TOM. Nay, I am of Laurence mind for that, for he means to leave his life behind him; he and Leonard, your two loaders, are making their wills because they have wives. Now we Bachelors bid our friends scramble for our goods if we die: but, master, pray ye, let me ride upon Cutte. MURLEY. Meal and salt, wheat and malt, fire and tow, frost and snow! why, Tom, thou shalt. Let me see: here are you, William and George are with my cart, and Robin and Hodge holding my own two horses: proper men, handsome men, tall men, true men. DICK. But, master, master, me thinks you are a mad man to hazard your own person and a cart load of money too. TOM. Yea, and, master, there’s a worse matter in’t. If it be as I heard say, we go to fight against all the learned Bishops, that should give us their blessing; and if they curse us, we shall speed ne’er the better. DICK. Nay, bir lady, some say the King takes their part; and, master, dare you fight against the King? MURLEY. Fie, paltry, paltry! in and out, to and fro, upon occasion; if the King be so unwise to come there, we’ll fight with him too. TOM. What, if ye should kill the King? MURLEY. Then we’ll make another. DICK. Is that all? do ye not speak treason? MURLEY. If we do, who dare trip us? we come to fight for our conscience, and for honor. Little know you what is in my bosom; look here, mad knaves, a pair of gilt spurs. TOM. A pair of golden spurs? Why do you not put them on your heels? Your bosom’s no place for spurs. MURLEY. Be’t more or less upon occasion, Lord have mercy upon us, Tom, th’art a fool, and thou speakest treason to knighthood. Dare any wear golden or silver spurs till he be a knight? No, I shall be knighted to morrow, and then they shall on. Sirs, was it ever read in the church book of Dunstable, that ever malt man was made knight? TOM. No, but you are more: you are meal-man, maltman, miller, corn-master and all. DICK. Yea, and half a brewer too, and the devil and all for wealth. You bring more money with you, than all the rest.