Cham. Ay, sir, my master is up; but I think Master Blague indeed be not stirring.
Sir Ralph. Why, who's thy master? Is not the master of the house thy master?
Cham. Yes, sir; but Master Blague dwells over the way.
Sir Arth. Is not this the George? Before Jove, there's some villany in this.
Cham. Foot, our sign's removed; this is strange!
Enter Blague, trussing his points.
Host. Chamberlain, speed[309] up to the new lodgings;
Bid Nell look well to the bak'd meat—
How now, my old jennet's back?[310] my house
[Is] my castle: lie in Waltham all night, and
Not under the canopy of your host Blague's house?
Sir Arth. Mine host, mine host, we lay all night at the George in Waltham; but whether the George be your fee-simple or no, 'tis a question. Look upon your sign.
Host. Body of St George, this is mine over-thwart neighbour hath done this to seduce my blind customers. I'll tickle his catastrophe for this; if I do not indict him at the next assizes for burglary, let me die of the yellows;[311] for I see it is no boot in these days to serve the good Duke of Norfolk. The villanous world is turned mangy;[312] one jade deceives another, and your ostler plays his part commonly for the fourth share. Have we comedies in hand, you whoreson, villanous male London lecher?
Sir Arth. Mine host, we have had the moilingest night of it that ever we had in our lives.