SIR WIL. I guess the cause of it,
But cannot now intend to visit him.
Great business for my sovereign hastes me hence;
Only this letter from his lord and guardian to him,
Whose inside, I do guess, tends to his good;
At my return I'll see him: so farewell. [Exit.
BUT. Whose inside, I do guess, turns to his good.
He shall not see it now, then; for men's minds,
Perplex'd like his, are like land-troubling-winds,
Who have no gracious temper.
Enter JOHN SCARBOROW.
JOHN. O butler!
BUT. What's the fright now?
JOHN. Help, straight, or on the tree of shame
We both shall perish for the robbery.
BUT. What, is't reveal'd, man?
JOHN. Not yet, good butler: only my brother Thomas,
In spleen to me that would not suffer him
To kill our elder brother had undone us,
Is riding now to Sir John Harcop straight,
To disclose it.
BUT. Heart! who would rob with sucklings?
Where did you leave him?
JOHN. Now taking horse to ride to Yorkshire.