I muste have a worde or twayne wyth your lordship. B ii b
Syr, yonder is a nother man in place, 340
Who maketh great sewt to speke wyth your grace.
Your pleasure ones knowen, he commeth by and by.[139]
Jupyter. Bryng hym before our presens, sone, hardely.
Mery-reporte. Why! where be you? shall I not fynde ye?
Come a-way, I pray god, the devyll blynde ye! 345
Marchaunt. Moste myghty prynce and lorde of lordes all,
Right humbly besecheth your majeste
Your marchaunt-men thorow the worlde all,