Glost. What's thine owne Name?
Simpc. Saunder Simpcoxe, and if it please you, Master
Glost. Then Saunder, sit there,
The lying'st Knaue in Christendome.
If thou hadst beene borne blinde,
Thou might'st as well haue knowne all our Names,
As thus to name the seuerall Colours we doe weare.
Sight may distinguish of Colours:
But suddenly to nominate them all,
It is impossible.
My Lords, Saint Albone here hath done a Miracle:
And would ye not thinke it, Cunning to be great,
That could restore this Cripple to his Legges againe
Simpc. O Master, that you could?
Glost. My Masters of Saint Albones,
Haue you not Beadles in your Towne,
And Things call'd Whippes?
Maior. Yes, my Lord, if it please your Grace
Glost. Then send for one presently
Maior. Sirrha, goe fetch the Beadle hither straight.
Enter.
Glost. Now fetch me a Stoole hither by and by. Now Sirrha, if you meane to saue your selfe from Whipping, leape me ouer this Stoole, and runne away
Simpc. Alas Master, I am not able to stand alone:
You goe about to torture me in vaine.
Enter a Beadle with Whippes.
Glost. Well Sir, we must haue you finde your Legges.
Sirrha Beadle, whippe him till he leape ouer that same
Stoole
Beadle. I will, my Lord.
Come on Sirrha, off with your Doublet, quickly
Simpc. Alas Master, what shall I doe? I am not able to
stand.