Clow. Now for his conjuring, the witches of Lapland are the divells chare-women to him, for they will sell a man a wind to some purpose; he sells wind, and tells you fortie lyes over and over.
Hostess. I thought what we should find of him.
Host. Hold your prating, be not you an heretick.
Clow. Conjure! I'll tell you, all the divells names he calls upon are but fustion names, gather'd out of welch heraldry; in breif, he is a rogue of six reprieves, four pardons of course, thrice pilloried, twice sung Lacrymæ to the Virginalls of a carts tail, h'as five times been in the Gallies, and will never truely run himself out of breath, till he comes to the gallowes.
Foro. You have heard worthy gentlemen, what this lying, detracting rascall has vomited.
Tay. Yes certain, but we have a better trust in you, for you have ta'en our money.
Foro. I have so, truth is he was my servant, and for some chastisement I gave him, he does practise thus upon me; speak truely sirra, are you certain I cannot conjure?
Clow. Conjure! ha, ha, ha.
Foro. Nay, nay, but be very sure of it.