HOST. Why? what's the matter, friend, I pray?
CON. Why, thieves, man, I tell thee, come away.
HOST. Thieves, i'faith? Wife! my scull, my jack, my brown bill.
CON. Come away quickly.
HOST. Dick, Tom, Will, ye whoresons, make ye all ready, and haste; But let me hear, how stands the case? [Follows CONSTABLE.[412]
CON. Marry, sir, here-by. Not far from this place,
A plain simple man, riding on his ass,
Meaning home to his country in God's peace to pass,
By certain roisters, most furious and mad,
Is spoiled and robbed of all that he had.
And yet not contented, when they had his money,
But the villains have also murdered him most cruelly.
HOST. Good God, for his mercy!
CON. It was my hap to come then present[ly] by him,
And found him dead, with twenty wounds upon him.
HOST. But what became of them?
CON. They fled this way.