Cos. Buy any pears, very fine pears, pears fine!
[Nightingale sets his foot afore him, and he falls with his basket.
Cokes. Ods so! a muss, a muss, a muss, a muss!
[Falls a scrambling for the pears.
Cos. Good gentlemen, my ware, my ware; I am a poor man. Good sir, my ware.
Night. Let me hold your sword, sir, it troubles you.
Cokes. Do, and my cloke an thou wilt, and my hat too.
Edg. A delicate great boy! methinks he out-scrambles them all. I cannot persuade myself, but he goes to grammar-school yet, and plays the truant to-day.
Night. Would he had another purse to cut, Zekiel.
Edg. Purse! a man might cut out his kidneys, I think, and he never feel ’em, he is so earnest at the sport.