CAREAWAY.
I woll swear on a book, he was once this day—
JACK JUGGLER.
And for that thou shalt somewhat have,
Because thou presumest, like a saucy lying knave,
To say my master is thine. Who is thy master now?
[Strikes him again.
CAREAWAY.
By my troth, sir, whosoever please you:
I am your own, for you beat me so,
As no man but my master should do.
JACK JUGGLER. I woll handle thee better, if fault be not in fist— [Prepares to strike him.
CAREAWAY.
Help! save my life, masters, for the passion of Christ!
JACK JUGGLER.
Why, thou lousy thief, dost thou cry and roar?—
CAREAWAY.
No, faith, I woll not cry one whit more:
Save my life, help, or I am slain—
JACK JUGGLER.
Yea, dost thou make a rumouring yet again?
Did not I bid thee hold thy peace?—
CAREAWAY.
In faith, now I leave crying; now I cease: help, help!
JACK JUGGLER.
Who is thy master?