_Cl. Col._ Why, dwelleth Mesure where ye two dwell? In faythe, he were better to dwell in hell. _Fan._ Yet where we wonne, nowe there wonneth he. _Cl. Col._ And haue you not amonge you Lyberte? _C. Count._ Ye, but he is a captyuyte. _Cl. Col._ What, the deuyll, howe may that be? _C. Count._ I can not tell you: why aske you me? Aske these two that there dothe dwell. _Cl. Col._ Syr, the playnesse you tell me.[797] _Cr. Con._ There dwelleth a mayster men calleth Mesure— 640 _Fan._ Ye, and he hath rule of all his tresure. _Cr. Con._ Nay, eyther let me tell, or elles tell ye. _Fan._ I care not I, tell on for me. _C. Count._ I pray God let you neuer to thee! _Cl. Col._ What the deuyll ayleth you? can you not agree? _Cr. Con._ I wyll passe ouer the cyrcumstaunce, And shortly shewe you the hole substaunce. Fansy and I, we twayne, With Magnyfycence in housholde do remayne, And counterfeted our names we haue 650 Craftely all thynges vpryght to saue, His name Largesse, Surueyaunce myne: Magnyfycence to vs begynneth to enclyne Counterfet Countenaunce to haue also, And wolde that we sholde for hym go. _C. Count._ But shall I haue myne olde name styll? _Cr. Con._ Pease, I haue not yet sayd what I wyll. _Fan._ Here is a pystell of a postyke! _Cl. Col._ Tusshe, fonnysshe Fansy, thou arte frantyke. Tell on, syr, howe then? 660 _Cr. Con._ Mary, syr, he tolde vs, when We had hym founde, we sholde hym brynge, And that we fayled not for nothynge. _Cl. Col._ All this ye may easely brynge aboute. _Fan._ Mary, the better and Mesure were out. _Cl. Col._ Why, can ye not put out that foule freke? _Cr. Con._ No, in euery corner he wyll peke, So that we haue no lyberte, Nor no man in courte but he, For Lyberte he hath in gydyng. 670 _C. Count._ In fayth, and without Lyberte there is no bydyng. _Fan._ In fayth, and Lybertyes rome is there but small. _Cl. Col._ Hem! that lyke I nothynge at all. _Cr. Con._ But, Counterfet[798] Countenaunce, go we togyder, All thre, I say. _C. Count._ Shall I go? whyder? _Cr. Con.[799]_ To Magnyfycence with vs twayne, And in his seruyce thé to retayne. _C. Count._ But then, syr, what shall I hyght? _Cr. Con._ Ye and I talkyd therof to nyght. 680 _Fan._ Ye, my Fansy was out of owle flyght, For it is out of my mynde quyght. _Cr. Con._ And nowe it cometh to my remembraunce: Syr, ye shall hyght Good Demeynaunce. _C. Count._ By the armes of Calys, well conceyued! _Cr. Con._ When we haue hym thyder conuayed, What and I frame suche a slyght, That Fansy with his fonde consayte Put Magnyfycence in suche a madnesse, That he shall haue you in the stede of sadnesse, 690 And Sober Sadnesse shalbe your name?