Cal. Pray you tread softly, that the blinde Mole may
not heare a foot fall: we now are neere his Cell
St. Monster, your Fairy, w you say is a harmles Fairy,
Has done little better then plaid the Iacke with vs
Trin. Monster, I do smell all horse-pisse, at which
My nose is in great indignation
Ste. So is mine. Do you heare Monster: If I should
Take a displeasure against you: Looke you
Trin. Thou wert but a lost Monster
Cal. Good my Lord, giue me thy fauour stil,
Be patient, for the prize Ile bring thee too
Shall hudwinke this mischance: therefore speake softly,
All's husht as midnight yet
Trin. I, but to loose our bottles in the Poole
Ste. There is not onely disgrace and dishonor in that
Monster, but an infinite losse
Tr. That's more to me then my wetting:
Yet this is your harmlesse Fairy, Monster
Ste. I will fetch off my bottle,
Though I be o're eares for my labour