Cokes. God a mercy for that! why should they be more free indeed?
Night. Youth, youth, thou had’st better been starved by thy nurse,
Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse.
Cokes. That again, good ballad-man, that again. [He sings the burden with him.] O rare! I would fain rub mine elbow now, but I dare not pull out my hand.—On, I pray thee; he that made this ballad shall be poet to my masque.
Night. At Worc’ster, ’tis known well, and even in the jail,
A knight of good worship did there shew his face,
Against the foul sinners, in zeal for to rail,
And lost ipso facto his purse in the place.
Cokes. Is it possible?
Night. Nay, once from the seat