HICKSCORNER.
Lo, will ye not see this caitiff's meaning?
He would destroy us all, and all our kin,
Yet had I liever see him hanged by the chin,
Rather than that should be brought about;
And with this dagger thou shalt have a clout,
Without thou wilt be lightly be gone.
IMAGINATION.
Nay, brother, lay hand on him soon;
For he japed my wife, and made me cuckold,
And yet the traitor was so bold,
That he stale forty pound of mine in money.
HICKSCORNER.
By Saint Mary, then he shall not scape;
We will lead him straight to Newgate,
For ever there shall he lie.
FREEWILL.
Ah, see, ah, see, sirs, what I have brought,
A medicine for a pair of sore shins;
At the King's Bench, sirs, I have you sought,
But I pray you, who shall wear these?
HICKSCORNER.
By God, this fellow that may not go hence,
I will go give him these hose rings;
Now, i-faith, they be worth forty pence,
But to his hands I lack two bonds.