This tale woulde feare my sweete heart Custance right euill.
M. Mery. Nay let hir take him Nurse, and feare not the deuill.
But thus is our song dasht. Sirs ye may home againe.
R. Roister. No shall they not. I charge you all here to remaine:
The villaine slaues a whole day ere they can be founde.
M. Mery. Couche on your marybones whooresons, down to the ground.
Was it meete he should tarie so long in one place
Without harmonie of Musike, or some solace?
Who so hath suche bees as your maister in hys head,
Had neede to haue his spirites with Musike to be fed.