[51.]A Sort of Clownes for loss which they sustain'd
By Souldiers, to the Captaine sore complain'd,
With dolefull wordes, and very woefull faces,
They Moov'd him to compassionate their Cases.
Good Sir (sayes one) I pray redress our wrong,
They that have done it, unto you belong;
Of all that eare we had we are bereft,
Except our very Shirts, theres nothing left.
The Captaine answer'd thus; Fellowes heare mee:
My Souldiers rob'd you not, I plainely see: