WIDOW.
O, to my shame I do.
SIR GODFREY. But under favour, my Lord, my chain was truly lost and strangely found again.
NOBLE.
Resolve him of that, Soldier.
SKIRMISH.
In few words, Knight, then, thou were the arch-gull of all.
SIR GODFREY.
How, Sir?
SKIRMISH. Nay, I’ll prove it: for the chain was but hid in the rosemary bank all this while, and thou gotst him out of prison to Conjure for it, who did it admirably fustianly; for indeed what need any others when he knew where it was?
SIR GODFREY.
O villainy of villainies! But how came my chain there?
SKIRMISH.
Where’s truly la, in deed la, he that will not swear, but lie,
He that will not steal, But rob: pure Nicholas Saint Antlings?
SIR GODFREY.
O Villain! one of our society,
Deemd always holy, pure, religious.
A Puritan a thief, when wast ever heard?
Sooner we’ll kill a man then Steal, thou knowst.
Out, slave! I’ll rend my lion from thy back
With mine own hands.
NICHOLAS.
Dear Master, oh.