M. Merry. Nay, let her take him, nurse, and fear not the devil.
But thus is our song dasht—sirs, ye may home again. [To the music.
R. Roister. No, shall they not. I charge you all here to remain:
The villain slaves!—a whole day, ere they can be found!
M. Merry. Couch on your marybones, whoresons, down to the ground!
Was it meet he should tarry so long in one place,
Without harmony of music or some solace?
Whoso hath such bees as your master in his head
Had need to have his spirits with music be fed.
By your mastership's licence—