I must go comfort my venerable Mulligrub, I must fiddle him till he fist.[89] Fough!
Maids in your night-rails,
Look well to your light—
Keep close your locks, 80
And down your smocks;
Keep a broad eye,
And a close thigh.
Excellent, excellent! Who’s there? Now, Lord, Lord—Master Mulligrub—deliver us! what does your worship in the stocks? I pray come out, sir.
Mul. Zounds, man, I tell thee I am lock’d!
Coc. Lock’d! O world! O men! O time! O night! that canst not discern virtue and wisdom, and one of the common council! What is your worship in for? 90
Mul. For (a plague on’t) suspicion of felony.
Coc. Nay, and it be such a trifle, Lord, I could weep, to see your good worship in this taking. Your worship has been a good friend to me, and tho’ you have forgot me, yet I knew your wife before she was married, and since I have found your worship’s door open, and I have knock’d, and God knows what I have saved: and do I live to see your worship stocked?
Mul. Honest bellman, I perceive
Thou knowest me: I prithee call the watch. 100
Inform the constable of my reputation,
That I may no longer abide in this shameful habitation,
And hold thee all I have about me.
[Gives him his purse.
Coc. ’Tis more than I deserve, sir: let me alone for your delivery.