He biddeth me give more than all,
Till dead mens bones come at thy call:
He biddeth me dreame of no rest,
Till I repent that I do best.
Enter Wiggen, Corobus,[1078] Churchwarden and Sexten.
Wiggen. You may be ashamed, you whorson scald Sexton and 425 Churchwarden, if you had any shame in those shamelesse faces of yours, to let a poore man lie so long above ground unburied. A rot on you all, that have no more compassion of a good fellow when he is gone.
Simon. What, would you have us to burie him, and to aunswere 430 it our selves to the parrishe?
Sexton. Parish me no parishes; pay me my fees, and let the rest runne on in the quarters accounts, and put it downe for one of your good deedes a Gods name; for I am not one that curiously stands upon merits. 435
Corobus. You whoreson, sodden-headed sheepes-face, shall a good fellow do lesse service and more honestie to the parish, & will you not, when he is dead, let him have Christmas[1079] buriall?
Wiggen. Peace Corebus, as sure[1080] as Jack was Jack, the frollickst frannion[1081] amongst you, and I Wiggen his sweete sworne brother,[1082] 440 Jack shall have his funerals, or some of them shall lie on Gods deare earth for it, thats once.[1083]