Otr. Come, come, you shall be hors'd:
Your company deserves him, though you kill him,
Run him blind, I care not.
Bust. He'll do't o'th' purpose (my Lord) to bring him up to the Mill.
Fra. Do not tempt me too far (my Lord.)
Otr. There's a foot i'th' stirrop: I'll not leave you now:
You shall see the Game fall once again:
Fra. Well (my Lord) I'll make ready my legs for you,
And try 'em once a horseback: sirrah, my charge, keep it. [Exit.
Bust. Yes, when you pare down your dish for conscience sake,
When your thumb's coyn'd into bone & legalis,
When you are a true Man-Miller.
Otr. What's the matter Bustofa?
Bust. My Lord; if you have e'r a drunken Jade that has the staggers,
That will fall twice the height of our Mill with him: set him
O' th' back on him: a galled Jennet that will winch him out o' the
Saddle, and break one on's necks, or a shank of him (there was
A fool going that way, but the Asse had better luck;)
Or one of your brave Bararies, that would pass the Straits, and run
Into his own Countrey with him; the first Moor he met, would
Cut his throat for Complexions sake: there's as deadly feud between
A Moor and a Miller, as between black and white.
Otr. Fie, fie, this is unnatural Bustofa,
Unless on some strong cause.
Bust. Be Judge (my Lord)
I am studied in my part: the Julian Feast is to day: the Countrey
Expects me; I speak all the dumb shews: my Sister chosen for
A Nimph. The gentle Whale whose feet so fell: Cry mercy,
That was some of my part: But his charge is to keep the Mill,
And disappoint the Revels.