Grace. O! he is too serious for this place, and yet better sport then than the other three, I assure you, gentlemen, wherever he is, though it be on the bench.
Cokes. How dost thou call it? A caveat against cut-purses! a good jest, i’faith, I would fain see that demon, your cut-purse you talk of, that delicate-handed devil; they say he walks hereabout; I would see him walk now. Look you, sister, here, here [he shews his purse boastingly], let him come, sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, does any cut-purses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two; begin, and shew me one.
Night. Sir, this is a spell against them, spick and span new; and ’tis made as ’twere in mine own person, and I sing it in mine own defence. But ’twill cost a penny alone, if you buy it.
Cokes. No matter for the price; thou dost not know me, I see, I am an odd Bartholomew.
Mrs. Over. Has it a fine picture, brother?
Cokes. O, sister, do you remember the ballads over the nursery chimney at home o’ my own pasting up? there be brave pictures, other manner of pictures than these, friend.
Waspe. Yet these will serve to pick the pictures out of your pockets, you shall see.
Cokes. So I heard them say! Pray thee mind him not, fellow; he’ll have an oar in every thing.
Night. It was intended, sir, as if a purse should chance to be cut in my presence, now, I may be blameless though; as by the sequel will more plainly appear.
Cokes. We shall find that in the matter: pray thee begin.