Man. Morrow, brother.
Hen. Oh, good morrow: you have slept soundly.
Man. Travellers that are weary have sleepe led in a string.
Buz. So doe those that are hangd: all that travell & are weary doe not sleepe.
Man. Why, Mr. Buzzano, why?
Buz. Midwives travell at night & are weary with eating groaning pyes[36], & yet sleepe not: shall I hooke you?
Man. Hooke me? what meanst?
Buz. These Taylors are the wittyest knaves that live by bread.
Hen. And why witty, out of your wisdome?
Buz. In old time gentlemen would call to their men & cry, "Come, trusse me": now the word is "Come, hooke me"; for every body now lookes so narrowly to Taylors bills (some for very anger never paying them) that the needle lance knights, in revenge of those prying eyes, put so many hookes & eyes to every hose & dubblet.