Y. Clare They were these stealers that affrighted us;
I was hard upon them when they hors'd their deer,
And I perceive they took me for a keeper.
Brian. Which way took they?
Jer. Towards Enfield.
Brian. A plague upon't, that's the damned priest and Blague of the George—he that serves the good Duke of Norfolk.
[A noise within.] Follow, follow, follow!
Y. Clare. Peace; that's my father's voice.
Brian. Nouns! you suspected them, and now they are here indeed.
Mil. Alas! what shall we do?
Brian. If you go to the lodge, you are surely taken:
Strike down the wood to Enfield presently,
And if Mounchensey come, I'll send him to you.
Let me alone to bustle with your fathers;
I warrant you that I will keep them play
Till you have quit the Chase; away, away. [Exeunt.
Who's there?