Nicholas. I love my master; by these hilts I do! But rather than I’ll ever come to serve him, I’ll turn away my master. _Enter_ Cicely. Cicely. Nich’las, where are you, Nich’las? you must come in, Nich’las, and help the young gentleman off with his boots. Nicholas. If I pluck off his boots, I’ll eat the spurs, And they shall stick fast in my throat like burs. Cicely. Then, Jenkin, come you. Jenkin. Nay, ’tis no boot for me to deny it. My master hath given me a coat here, but he takes pains himself to brush it once or twice a day with a holly-wand. Cicely. Come, come, make haste, that you may wash your hands again, and help to serve in dinner. Jenkin. You may see, my masters, though it be afternoon with you, ’tis but early days with us, for we have not dined yet: stay a little, I’ll but go in and help to bear up the first course, and come to you again presently. [_Exeunt_. SCENE II.--_A Room in the Gaol_. _Enter_ Malby _and_ Cranwell. Malby. This is the sessions-day; pray can you tell me How young Sir Charles hath sped? Is he acquit, Or must he try the law’s strict penalty? Cranwell. He’s cleared of all, spite of his enemies, Whose earnest labour was to take his life: But in this suit of pardon he hath spent All the revenues that his father left him; And he is now turned a plain countryman, Reformed in all things. See, sir, here he comes. _Enter_ Sir Charles _and_ Keeper. Keeper. Discharge your fees, and you are then at freedom. Sir Charles Mountford. Here, Master Keeper, take the poor remainder Of all the wealth I have: my heavy foes Have made my purse light; but, alas! to me ’Tis wealth enough that you have set me free. Malby. God give you joy of your delivery! I am glad to see you abroad, Sir Charles. Sir Charles Mountford. The poorest knight in England, Master Malby: My life hath cost me all my patrimony My father left his son: well, God forgive them That are the authors of my penury. _Enter_ Shafton. Shafton. Sir Charles! a hand, a hand! at liberty? Now, by the faith I owe, I am glad to see it. What want you? wherein may I pleasure you? Sir Charles Mountford. O me! O most unhappy gentleman! I am not worthy to have friends stirred up, Whose hands may help me in this plunge of want. I would I were in Heaven, to inherit there The immortal birth-right which my Saviour keeps, And by no unthrift can be bought and sold; For here on earth what pleasures should we trust?