SIR GODFREY.
About my neck, Varlet! My chain is lost.
Tis stole away, I’m robbed.
WIDDOW.
Nay, Brother, show your self a man.
NICHOLAS.
Aye, if it be lost or stole, if he would be patient, Mistress,
I could bring him to a Cunning Kinsman of mine that would
fetcht again with a Sesarara.
SIR GODFREY.
Canst thou? I will be patient: say, where dwells he?
NICHOLAS. Marry, he dwells now, Sir, where he would not dwell, and he could choose: in the Marshalsea, sir; but he’s a exlent fellow if he were out; has traveled all the world o’er, he, and been in the seven and twenty Provinces; why, he would make it be fetcht, Sir, if twere rid a thousand mile out of town.
SIR GODFREY.
An admirable fellow: what lies he for?
NICHOLAS. Why, he did but rob a Steward of ten groats tother Night, as any man would ha done, and there he lies fort.
SIR GODFREY.
I’ll make his peace: a Trifle! I’ll get his pardon,
Beside a bountiful reward. I’ll about it.
But see the Clerks, the Justice will do much.
I will about it straight: good sister, pardon me.
All will be well, I hope, and turn to good,
The name of Conjurer has laid my blood.
[Exeunt.]