Mis. A, whoreson, thy head shall I break! D3,r.
Envy. For the passion of God, sober your mood!
I fear shedding of knave's blood.
Here they fight and run all out of the place, and then entereth Prosperity poorly [clad] and saith.
Pov. O Jesu! what may this mean?
My goods are spent and wasted away!
Also my men are from me clean;
I see them not this seven nights' day.
As long as I might spend and pay,
They held me up with false dissimulation;
And now they forsake me in my most tribulation.
[Envy returneth followed by Misrule.
Envy. Come! for Cock's bones! why tarry ye so long?
Mis. In faith! I come as fast as I can;
I am so angry, I wot not what to do,
That yonder knave scaped from me so.
Envy. What knave is this? I hold him some spy.
Pov. I am your master; know ye not me?
Envy. Thou art come alate out of Marshalsea.