Tread. Leive them in trust And chardge of this grave reverent gentleman, Untill you heire the sentence of the coort.
Ashb. I willingly accept theire patronadge: Heere att my howse they shall have meate and harbour.
Raph. Nobly spoke: Meane tyme hale these to'th coort.
Mild. My Palestra, What? not one woord of pitye?
Raph. Stopp his mouthe.
Mild. My Scribonia, Wilt thou intreate them neather?
Tread. Tyme's but trifled; Away with them to justyce!
Mild. Take my skinne then, Synce nothinge else is left mee.
Clown. That's rotten allredy and will neather make goodd leather nor parchement … theire.
[Exeunt.