_Cr. Con._ Yes, yes, by lakyn, I shall thé warent, As longe as I lyue, thou haste an heyre parent. _Fan._ Yet haue we pyckyd out a rome for thé. _C. Count._ Why, shall we dwell togyder all thre? _Cr. Con._ Why, man, it were to great a wonder, That we thre galauntes sholde be longe asonder. _C. Count._ For Cockys harte, gyue me thy hande. _Fan._ By the masse, for ye are able to dystroy an hole lande. _Cr. Con._ By God, yet it muste begynne moche of thé. 520 _Fan._ Who that is ruled by vs, it shalbe longe or he thee. _C. Count._ But, I say, kepest thou the olde name styll that thou had? _Cr. Con._ Why, wenyst thou, horson, that I were so mad? _Fan._ Nay, nay, he hath chaunged his, and I haue chaunged myne. _C. Count._ Nowe, what is his name, and what is thyne? _Fan._ In faythe, Largesse I hyght, And I am made a knyght. _C. Count._ A rebellyon agaynst nature, So large a man, and so lytell of stature! But, syr, howe counterfetyd ye? 530 _Cr. Con._ Sure Surueyaunce[794] I named me. _C. Count._ Surueyaunce! where ye suruey, Thryfte hathe lost her cofer kay. _Fan._ But is it not well? howe thynkest thou? _C. Count._ Yes, syr, I gyue God auowe, Myselfe coude not counterfet it better. But what became of the letter, That I counterfeyted you vnderneth a shrowde? _Fan._ By the masse, odly well alowde. _Cr. Con._ By God, had not I it conuayed, 540 Yet Fansy had ben dysceyued. _C. Count._ I wote, thou arte false ynoughe for one. _Fan._ By my trouthe, we had ben gone: And yet, in fayth, man, we lacked thé For to speke with Lyberte. _C. Count._ What is Largesse without Lyberte? _Cr. Con._ By Mesure mastered yet is he. _C. Count._ What, is your conueyaunce no better? _Fan._ In faythe, Mesure is lyke a tetter, That ouergroweth a mannes face, 550 So he ruleth ouer all our place. _Cr. Con._ Nowe therfore, whylest we are togyder,— Counterfet Countenaunce, nay, come hyder,— I say, whylest we are togyder in same— _C. Count._ Tushe, a strawe, it is a shame That we can no better than so. _Fan._ We wyll remedy it, man, or we go; For, lyke as mustarde is sharpe of taste,[795] Ryght so a sharpe fansy must be founde Wherwith Mesure to confounde. 560 _Cr. Con._ Can you a remedy for a tysyke, That sheweth yourselfe thus spedde in physyke? _C. Count._ It is a gentyll reason of a rake. _Fan._ For all these iapes yet that ye[796] make— _Cr. Con._ Your fansy maketh myne elbowe to ake. _Fan._ Let se, fynde you a better way. _C. Count._ Take no dyspleasure of that we say. _Cr. Con._ Nay, and you be angry and ouerwharte, A man may beshrowe your angry harte. _Fan._ Tushe, a strawe, I thought none yll. 570