FRIAR. It is a wolf in a sheep's skin.
Go, call our master, Little John;
A glad man will he be anon.
It's Ely, man, the chancellor. [Aside.]
LIT. JOHN. God's pity! look unto him, Friar.
[Aside. Exit LITTLE JOHN.
MUCH. What, ha' ye eggs to sell, old fellow?
ELY. Ay, sir, some few; and those my need constrains me bear to
Mansfield, that I may sell them there to buy me bread.
SCAR. Alas, good man! I prythee, where dost dwell?
ELY. I dwell in Oxon, sir.
SCAR. I know the town.
MUCH. Alas, poor fellow! if thou dwell with oxen, it's strange they do not gore thee with their horns.
ELY. Masters, I tell ye truly where I dwell,
And whither I am going; let me go.
Your master would be much displeas'd, I know,
If he should hear you hinder poor men thus.
FRIAR. Father, one word with you, before we part.