_Poore man._ I sir, it was told me in my sleepe, [dae060] That sweet saint Albones, should giue me my sight againe. _Humphrey._ What art thou lame too? [dae062] _Poore man._ I indeed sir, God helpe me. [dae063] _Humphrey._ How cam’st thou lame? _Poore man._ With falling off on a plum-tree. [dae065] _Humph._ Wart thou blind & wold clime plumtrees? [dae066] _Poore man._ Neuer but once sir in all my life, My wife did long for plums. _Humph._ But tell me, wart thou borne blinde? [dae069] _Poore man._ _I_ truly sir. ·dae070· _Woman._ I indeed sir, he was borne blinde. _Humphrey._ What art thou his mother? [dae072] _Woman._ His wife sir. _Humphrey._ Hadst thou bene his mother, Thou couldst haue better told. ·dae075· Why let me see, I thinke thou canst not see yet. _Poore man._ Yes truly maister, as cleare as day. _Humphrey._ Saist thou so. What colours his cloake? [dae078] _Poore man._ Why red maister, as red as blood. [dae079] _Humphrey._ And his cloake? ·dae080· _Poore man._ Why thats greene. [dae081] _Humphrey._ And what colours his hose? _Poore man._ Yellow maister, yellow as gold. _Humphrey._ And what colours my gowne? [dae084] _Poore man._ Blacke sir, as blacke as Ieat. ·dae085· _King._ Then belike he knowes what colour Ieat is on. _Suffolke._ And yet _I_ thinke Ieat did he neuer see. [dae087] _Humph._ But cloakes and gownes ere this day many a (one. But tell me sirrha, whats my name? [dae089] _Poore man._ Alasse maister I know not. ·dae090· _Humphrey._ Whats his name? [dae091] _Poore man._ _I_ know not. _Humphrey._ Nor his? _Poore man._ No truly sir. _Humphrey_ Nor his name? ·dae095· _Poore man_ No indeed maister. _Humphrey_ Whats thine owne name? [dae097] _Poore man._ _Sander_, and it please you maister. _Humphrey._ Then Sander sit there, the lyingest knaue in Christendom. If thou hadst bene born blind, thou mightest aswell haue [dae100] knowne all our names, as thus to name the seuerall colours we doo weare. Sight may distinguish of colours, but sodeinly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My Lords, saint Albones here hath done a [dae103] Miracle, and would you not thinke his cunning to be great, that could restore this Cripple to his legs againe. [dae105] _Poore man._ Oh maister I would you could. _Humphrey._ My Maisters of saint Albones, [dae107] Haue you not Beadles in your Towne, And things called whippes? _Mayor._ Yes my Lord, if it please your grace. ·dae110· _Humph._ Then send for one presently. _Mayor._ Sirrha, go fetch the Beadle hither straight. _Exet_ one. _Humph._ Now fetch me a stoole hither by and by. Now sirrha, If you meane to saue your selfe from whipping, Leape me ouer this stoole and runne away. ·dae115· Enter Beadle. _Poore man._ Alasse maister I am not able to stand alone, You go about to torture me in vaine.