HONESTY.
And yet you are Cutbert the Coneycatcher,
The bailiff's son of Hexham, whose father, being dead,
The devil carried to hell for his knavery.
How sayest thou, art not thou his son?
This grave black cloak makes you so proud,
You have forgotten who was your father.
CONEYCATCHER.
Nay, I have not forgotten that my father was a bailiff,
A man that would live to himself.
And yet, in faith, he gave me nothing at his death
But good counsel, how to live in the world.
But, sirrah, as thou knowest me, I pray thee, bewray me not,
And in anything I can, command me.
HONESTY.
Tush! fear not me, I will be as secret as thyself.
But, sirrah, 'tis thus, if thou wilt do one thing,
I shall tell thee, I will give thee an hundred pound:
'Tis nothing with thee, I am sure.
CONEYCATCHER.
Tush! tell me what it is; I'll do it, I warrant thee.
HONESTY.
Nothing but this; to swear upon a book
That thou sawest a gentleman pay a farmer
Four hundred pound, as the last payment of a farm
That the said gentleman bought of him.
CONEYCATCHER.
Tush! if this be all, let me alone, I will do it.
Why, 'tis nothing for me to swear,
For I am forsworn already: but when is the day?
HONESTY.
Why, to-morrow,
CONEYCATCHER.
But where shall I meet you?
HONESTY.
Why, upon the Exchange at eight o'clock.
CONEYCATCHER.
I will not miss: till that time, farewell. [Exit.