That ouergroweth a mannes face, 550
So he ruleth ouer all our place.
Cr. Con. Nowe therfore, whylest we are togyder,—
Counterfet Countenaunce, nay, come hyder,—
I say, whylest we are togyder in same—
C. Count. Tushe, a strawe, it is a shame
That we can no better than so.
Fan. We wyll remedy it, man, or we go;
For, lyke as mustarde is sharpe of taste,[795]
Ryght so a sharpe fansy must be founde