_Mul._ Here's something yet, a cloak, a cloak! Yet I'll after; he cannot 'scape the watch; I'll hang him if I have any mercy. I'll slice him. [_Exit._ _Enter three_ Constables; _to them_ COCLEDEMOY. _1st Con._ Who goes there? Come before the constable. 24 _Coc._ Bread o' God! constable, you are a watch for the devil. Honest men are robb'd under your nose; there's a false knave in the habit of a vintner set upon me; he would have had my purse, but I took me to my heels: yet he got my cloak, a plain stuff cloak, poor, yet 'twill serve to hang him. 'Tis my loss, poor man that I am! 31 [_Exit._ _Enter_ MULLIGRUB _running with_ COCLEDEMOY'S _cloak_. _2d Con._ Masters, we must watch better; is't not strange that knaves, drunkards, and thieves should be abroad, and yet we of the watch, scriveners, smiths, and tailors, never stir? _1st Con._ Hark, who goes there? _Mul._ An honest man and a citizen. _2d Con._ Appear, appear; what are you? _Mul._ A simple vintner. _1st Con._ A vintner ha! and simple; draw nearer, nearer; here's the cloak. 41 _2d Con._ Ay, Master Vintner, we know you: a plain stuff cloak; 'tis it. _1st Con._ Right, come! O thou varlet, dost not thou know that the wicked cannot 'scape the eyes of the constable? _Mul._ What means this violence? As I am an honest man I took the cloak---- _1st Con._ As you are a knave, you took the cloak, we are your witnesses for that. 50 _Mul._ But, hear me, hear me! I'll tell you what I am. _2d Con._ A thief you are. _Mul._ I tell you my name is Mulligrub. _1st Con._ I will grub you. In with him to the stocks; there let him sit till to-morrow morning, that Justice Quodlibet may examine him. _Mul._ Why, but I tell thee---- _2d Con._ Why, but I tell thee, we'll tell thee now. _Mul._ Am I not mad? am I not an ass? Why, scabs, God's-foot! let me out. 60 _2d Con._ Ay, ay, let him prate; he shall find matter in us scabs, I warrant: God's-so, what good members of the commonwealth do we prove! _1st Con._ Prithee, peace; let's remember our duties, and let's[88] go sleep, in the fear of God. [_Exeunt, having left_ MULLIGRUB _in the stocks_. _Mul._ Who goes there? Illo, ho, ho: zounds, shall I run mad--lose my wits! Shall I be hang'd? Hark; who goes there? Do not fear to be poor, Mulligrub; thou hast a sure stock now. _Re-enter_ COCLEDEMOY _like a bellman_.