Enter mad men of Gotham, to wit, a MILLER, a COBBLER, and a SMITH.
MILLER.
Now, let us constult among ourselves,
How to misbehave ourselves to the king's worship,
Jesus bless him! and when he comes, to deliver him this petition,
I think the Smith were best to do it, for he's a wise man.
COBBLER. Neighbour, he shall not do it, as long as Jeffrey the translater[311] is Mayor of the town.
SMITH.
And why, I pray? because I would have put you from the Mace?
MILLER.
No, not for that, but because he is no good fellow;
Nor he will not spend his pot for company.
SMITH. Why, sir, there was a god[312] of our occupation; and I charge you by virtue of his godhead to let me deliver the petition.
COBBLER. But soft, you: your god was a cuckold, and his godhead was the horn, and that's the arms of the godhead you call upon. Go, you are put down with your occupation; and now I will not grace you so much as to deliver the petition for you.
SMITH.
What, dispraise our trade?
COBBLER.
Nay, neighbour, be not angry, for I'll stand to nothing only but this—
SMITH. But what? bear witness a gives me the but, and I am not willing to shoot. Cobbler, I will talk with you: nay, my bellows, my coal-trough, and my water shall enter arms with you for our trade. O neighbour, I cannot bear it, nor I will not bear it!