Host. Priest!
Priest. Mine host!
Host. Did you not see a spirit all in white cross you at the stile?
Sex. O no, mine host; but there sat one in the porch: I have not breath enough left to bless me from the devil.
Host. Who's that?
Priest. The sexton, almost frightened out of his wits. Did you see Banks or Smug?
Host. No, they are gone to Waltham, sure. I would fain hence; come, let's to my house: I'll ne'er serve the Duke of Norfolk in this fashion again whilst I breathe. If the devil be among us, it's time to hoist sail, and cry roomer.[305] Keep together; sexton, thou art secret. What! let's be comfortable one to another.
Priest. We are all mortal, mine host.
Host. True; and I'll serve God in the night hereafter afore the Duke of Norfolk. [Exeunt.
Enter Sir Arthur Clare and Sir Ralph Jerningham,[306] trussing their points, as newly up.