_Mes._ Syr, God rewarde you as ye haue deserued: But thynke you with Magnyfycence I shal be reserued? _Cl. Col._ By my trouth, I can not tell you that; But, and I were as ye, I wolde not set a gnat By Magnyfycence, nor yet none of his, For, go when ye shall, of you shall he mysse. _Mes._ Syr, as ye say. _Cl. Col._ Nay, come on with me: Yet ones agayne I shall fall on my kne 1730 For your sake, what so euer befall; I set not a flye, and all go to all. _Mes._ The Holy Goost be with your grace. _Cl. Col._ Syr, I beseche you, let pety haue some place In your brest towardes this gentylman. _Magn._ I was your good lorde tyll that ye beganne So masterfully vpon you for to take With my seruauntys, and suche maystryes gan make, That holly my mynde with you is myscontente; Wherfore I wyll that ye be resydent 1740 With me no longer. _Cl. Col._ Say somwhat nowe, let se, for your selfe.[842] _Mes._ Syr, yf I myght permytted be, I wolde to you say a worde or twayne. _Magn._ What, woldest thou, lurden, with me brawle agayne? Haue hym hens, I say, out of my syght; That day I se hym, I shall be worse all nyght. [_Here MESURE goth out of the place._[843] _Court. Ab._ Hens, thou haynyarde, out of the dores fast! _Magn._ Alas, my stomake fareth as it wolde cast! _Cl. Col._ Abyde, syr, abyde, let me holde your hede. 1750 _Magn._ A bolle or a basyn, I say, for Goddes brede! A, my hede! But is the horson gone? God gyue hym a myscheffe! Nay, nowe let me alone. _Cl. Col._ A good dryfte, syr, a praty fete: By the good Lorde, yet your temples bete. _Magn._ Nay, so God me helpe, it was no grete vexacyon, For I am panged ofte tymes of this same facyon. _Cl. Col._ Cockes armes, howe Pleasure plucked hym forth! _Magn._ Ye, walke he must, it was no better worth. _Cl. Col._ Syr, nowe me thynke your harte is well eased. 1760 _Magn._ Nowe Measure is gone, I am the better pleased. _Cl. Col._ So to be ruled by measure, it is a payne. _Magn._ Mary, I wene he wolde not be glad to come agayne. _Cl. Col._ So I wote not what he sholde do here: Where mennes belyes is mesured, there is no chere; For I here but fewe men that gyue ony prayse Vnto measure, I say, nowe a days. _Magn._ Measure, tut! what, the deuyll of hell! Scantly one with measure that wyll dwell. _Cl. Col._ Not amonge noble men, as the worlde gothe: 1770 It is no wonder therfore thoughe ye be wrothe With Mesure. Where as all noblenes is, there I haue past: They catche that catche may, kepe and holde fast, Out of all measure themselfe to enryche; No force what thoughe his neyghbour dye in a dyche. With pollynge and pluckynge out of all measure, Thus must ye stuffe and store your treasure. _Magn._ Yet somtyme, parde, I must vse largesse.