Night. His soul is half way out on’s body at the game.
Edg. Away, Nightingale; that way.
[Nightingale runs off with his sword, cloke, and hat.
Cokes. I think I am furnish’d for cather’ne pears, for one under-meal: Give me my cloke.
Cos. Good gentleman, give me my ware.
Cokes. Where’s the fellow I gave my cloke to? my cloke and my hat; ha! ods ’lid, is he gone? thieves, thieves! help me to cry, gentlemen.
[Exit hastily.
Edg. Away, costard-monger, come to us to Ursula’s.
[Exit Costard-Monger.]
Talk of him to have a soul! ’heart, if he have any more than a thing given him instead of salt, only to keep him from stinking, I’ll be hang’d afore my time, presently: where should it be, trow? in his blood? he has not so much toward it in his whole body as will maintain a good flea! and if he take this course, he will not have so much land left as to rear a calf, within this twelvemonth. Was there ever green plover so pull’d! that his little overseer had been here now, and been but tall enough to see him steal pears, in exchange for his beaver-hat and his cloke thus! I must go find him out next, for his black box, and his patent, it seems, he has of his place; which I think the gentleman would have a reversion of, that spoke to me for it so earnestly.