ELY. No, sir, I thank you, I have promis'd them
To Master Bailey's wife, of Mansfield, all.
ROB. H. Nay, sir, you do me wrong:
No Bailey nor his wife shall have an egg.
Scarlet, I say, take his eggs, and give him money.
ELY. Pray, sir.
FRIAR. Tush, let him have your eggs.
ELY. Faith, I have none.
FRIAR. God's pity, then, he will find you some.[229]
SCAR. Here are no eggs, nor anything but hay.
Yes, by the mass, here's somewhat like a seal!
ROB. H. O God!
My prince's seal! fair England's royal seal!
Tell me, thou man of death, thou wicked man,
How cam'st thou by this seal? wilt thou not speak?
Bring burning irons! I will make him speak.
For I do know the poor distressed lord,
The king's vicegerent, learned, reverend Ely,
Flying the fury of ambitious John,
Is murder'd by this peasant. Speak, vile man,
Where thou hast done thrice honourable Ely!
ELY. Why dost thou grace Ely with styles of grace,
Who thee with all his power sought to disgrace?
ROB. H. Belike, his wisdom saw some fault in me.