HARPOOLE.
What are thou that bidst me stand?
CONSTABLE. I am the Officer, and am come to search for an Irish man, such a villain as thy self, that hast murthered a man this last night by the high way.
HARPOOLE.
Sblood, Constable, art thou mad? am I an Irish man?
MAYOR. Sirra, we’ll find you an Irish man before we part: lay hold upon him.
CONSTABLE.
Make him fast. O thou bloody rogue!
[Enter Lord Cobham and his lady in the carrier and wenches apparel.]
COBHAM.
What, will these Ostlers sleep all day?
Good morrow, good morrow. Come, wench, come.
Saddle! saddle! Now afore God too fair days, ha?
CONSTABLE.
Who comes there?
MAYOR.
Oh, tis Lancashire carrier; let him pass.
COBHAM.
What, will no body open the gates here?
Come, let’s int stable to look to our capons.