Io. Is that a wise word?
Fris. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the wenche's favour?
Io. Bring me to him, Frisco: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose to poynt me right to my maister.
Mop. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for posting with presents.
Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c.
Fris. Here he comes: offend him not, Ioculo, for feare he turne thee to a Iacke an apes.
Mop. And thee to an Owle.
Io. And thee to a wood-cocke.
Fris. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape.
Mop. A long bill a broade face and no tayle.