Enter Latine.
Lat. Whither can this Bookwit be gone?
Sim. Oh! Mr. John, Mr. Lovemore is killed just now, since you went out of our house; and you and your master must have an hand in it.
Lat. How? Lovemore killed! [They seize Latine.
Enter others with Young Bookwit.
Y. Book. Hands off, you dirty midnight rascals. Let me go, or——
Const. Sir, what were you running so fast for? There's a man killed in the Garden, and you're a fine gentleman, and it must be you—for good honest people only beat one another——
Lat. Nay, nay, we are all in a fair way to be fine gentlemen, Mr. Simon and all.
Const. Hands off, rascals, you said just now—do you know what a constable is?
Y. Book. The greatest man in the parish when all the rest are asleep.