And woonne Townes[,] nourse[,] as fast as thou canst make Apples.
M. Mumbl. O Lorde, my heart quaketh for feare: he is to sore.
R. Royster. Thou makest hir to much afearde, Merygreeke no more.
This tale woulde feare my sweete heart Custance right evill.
M. Mery. Nay let hir take him Nurse, and feare not the devill. 86
But thus is our song dasht. [To the musicians] Sirs ye may home againe.
R. Royster. No shall they not. I charge you all here to remaine:
The villaine slaves[!] a whole day ere they can be founde.
M. Mery. Couche on your marybones whooresons, down to the ground[!][434] 90
Was it meete he should tarie so long in one place