Glou. What’s thine own name?
[♦] Simp. Saunder Simpcox, an if it please you, master.
[125] Glou. Then, Saunder, sit there, the lyingest knave in Christendom. If thou hadst been born blind, thou mightst [♦] as well have known all our names as thus to name the several colours we do wear. Sight may distinguish of colours, [♦] but suddenly to nominate them all, it is impossible. My [130] lords, Saint Alban here hath done a miracle; and would [♦] ye not think his cunning to be great, that could restore this [♦] cripple to his legs again?
Simp. O master, that you could!
135 Glou. My masters of Saint Albans, have you not beadles in your town, and things called whips?
[♦] May. Yes, my lord, if it please your grace.
Glou. Then send for one presently.
[♦] May. Sirrah, go fetch the beadle hither straight. [Exit an Attendant.
[♦] Glou. Now fetch me a stool hither by and by. Now, 140 sirrah, if you mean to save yourself from whipping, leap me over this stool and run away.
Simp. Alas, master, I am not able to stand alone: You go about to torture me in vain.