[Re-enter New Guise.]
New. G. Out of my way, sirs! for dread of fighting!
Lo! here is a feat tail, light to leap about!
Nought. It is not shapen worth a morsel of bread;
There is too much cloth; it weighs as any lead.
I shall go and mend it; else I will lose my head—
Make space, sirs! let me go out!
[Nought goes out.
Mis. Mankind, come hither! God send you the gout!
Ye shall go to all the good fellows in the country about;
Unto the good-wife when the good-man is out—
"I will," say ye!
Man. I will, sir!
New G. There arn'[t] but six deadly sins; lechery is none;
As it may be verified by us brethels everyone.
Ye shall go rob, steal, and kill, as fast as ye may gone—
"I will," say ye!
Man. I will, sir!
Now. On Sundays, on the morrow, early betime,
Ye shall with us to the ale-house early, to go dine;
A[nd] forbear mass and matins, hours and prime—
"I will," say ye!
M[an]. I will, sir!