To the Nag’s Head, there is this coward’s haunt.

But now I’ll leave you till the deed be done.

Shakebag. If he be not paid his own, ne’er trust Shakebag.

Will. Sirrah Shakebag, at his coming forth I’ll run him

through, and then to the Blackfriars, and there

take water and away.

Shakebag. Why, that’s the best; but see thou miss him not.

Will. How can I miss him, when I think on the forty

angels I must have more?

Prentice. ’Tis very late; I were best shut up my stall,

for here will be old filching, when the press comes

forth of Paul’s. 52

52

Will. Zounds, draw, Shakebag, I am almost killed.

Prentice. We’ll tame you, I warrant.

Will. Zounds, I am tame enough already.

Arden. What troublesome fray or mutiny is this?

Franklin. ’Tis nothing but some brabling paltry fray,

Devised to pick men’s pockets in the throng.

Arden. Is’t nothing else? come, Franklin, let’s away.

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