Grac. Excellent, for now must he needes fall into Constables hands, and if he have any grace, twil appear in his face, when he shall be carried through the streete in a white sheet; twill be a good penance for his fault.
Hostis. Now fortune favour that my husband find him not.
Cittie wife. Heele be horne mad & never able to indure it: why, woman, if he had but as much man in him as a Maribone, heele take the burthen uppon his own necke and never discover you.
Hostis. Alas, heere they come, lets away, Gossip. [Exeunt.
Phy. Fortune,[313] my foe, why doost, &c.
Acut. Oh fye, thats bitter prethe goe comfort him.
Grac. Faith he should be innocent by his garment; Signior, I grieve for this, but if I can help, looke for it.
Phy. I thanke ye, sir.
Const. We must contaminate our office, pray regard us as little as ye can. [Exit.
Accut. Me thinkes this shold put him quite out of tune now, so let him goe now to mine Host; theres he and hee, and hee,