TYRANNY.
Go with us, Avarice, and bear us company.
AVARICE.
Nay, if you go hence, I will not here tarry.
HYPOCRISY.
Away, sirs: in your business in a corner do not lurk,
That my Lord Legate, when he comes, may have work.
TYRANNY.
Come on: let us go together, Sir John.
CACON.
Ay sall follow after. God boy, you good gentleman.
HYPOCRISY [Aside.]
Farewell three false knaves as between this and London!
TYRANNY.
What say'st thou?
HYPOCRISY.
As honest men as the three Kings of Cologne.
[Exeunt TYR. AVA. CACON.
This gear goes round, if that we had a fiddle:
Nay, I must sing too, heigh, dery, dery, dery.
I can do but laugh, my heart is so merry:
I will be minstrel myself, heigh, didle, didle, didle;
But lay there a straw I began to be weary.
But hark; I hear a trampling of feet.
It is my Lord Legate; I will him go meet.