SCAENA PRIMA.
Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe.
Rud. Bullaker.
Bul. I, Sir.
Rud. Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse.
Bul. So I doe Sir.
Rud. I wonder, Sir Gyles, you wood let him goe so, and not ride after him.
Goos. Wood I might never be mortall sir Cutt: if I rid not after him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he ran his way like a Diogenes, and would never stay for us.
Rud. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his horse is gone?
Goos. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, Sir Moyle, we shall soone our'take him I warrent ye.