Poy. But my Lads, my Lads, to morrow morning, by foure a clocke early at Gads hill, there are Pilgrimes going to Canterbury with rich Offerings, and Traders riding to London with fat Purses. I haue vizards for you all; you haue horses for your selues: Gads-hill lyes to night in Rochester, I haue bespoke Supper to morrow in Eastcheape; we may doe it as secure as sleepe: if you will go, I will stuffe your Purses full of Crownes: if you will not, tarry at home and be hang'd
Fal. Heare ye Yedward, if I tarry at home and go not,
Ile hang you for going
Poy. You will chops
Fal. Hal, wilt thou make one?
Prin. Who, I rob? I a Theefe? Not I
Fal. There's neither honesty, manhood, nor good fellowship in thee, nor thou cam'st not of the blood-royall, if thou dar'st not stand for ten shillings
Prin. Well then, once in my dayes Ile be a mad-cap
Fal. Why, that's well said
Prin. Well, come what will, Ile tarry at home
Fal. Ile be a Traitor then, when thou art King
Prin. I care not