PLOD-ALL.
Son, I doubt he will prove a crafty knave, and cosen us of our money.
We'll go to Master Justice, and complain on him, and get him whipped out
o' the country for a coneycatcher.
PETER PLOD-ALL.
Ay, or have his ears nailed to the pillory. Come, let's go.
[Exeunt PLOD-ALL and his son.
Enter CHURMS.
CHURMS.
Fellow Robin, what news? how goes the world?
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
Faith, the world goes, I cannot tell how. How sped you with your wench?
CHURMS. I would the wench were at the devil! A plague upon't, I never say my prayers; and that makes me have such ill-luck.
ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
I think the scholar be hunted with some demi-devil.
CHURMS.
Why, didst thou fray him?
ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Fray him? a vengeance on't! all our shifting knavery's known; we are counted very vagrants. Zounds, I am afraid of every officer for whipping.