Clo.

Let me see,—Every eleven weather tods, every tod yields pound and odd shilling; fifteen hundred shorn, what comes the wool too?

Aut.

If the sprindge hold, the cock's mine.—

Clo.

I cannot do't without compters. Let me see, what am I to buy for our sheep-shearing feast, three pound of sugar, five pound of currants, rice— what will this sister of mine do with rice? but my father hath made her mistress of the feast, and she lays it on. She hath made me four and twenty nose-gays for the shearers; three-man song-men all, and very good ones, but they are most of them means and bases; but one Puritan among them, and he sings psalms to horn-pipes. I must have saffron to colour the warden-pies, mace—dates—none—that's out of my note: nutmegs, seven; a race or two of ginger, but that I may beg; four pound of prunes, and as many raisins o' th' sun.

Aut.

Oh, that ever I was born!

Clo.

I'th' name of me—

Aut.

Oh, help me, help me: pluck but off these rags, and then death, death—

Clo.

Alack, poor soul, thou hast need of more rags to lay on thee, rather than have these off.

Aut.

Oh, Sir, the loathsomness of them offends me, more than the stripes I have receiv'd, which are mighty ones, and millions.

Clo.

Alas, poor man! a million of beating may come to a great matter.

Aut.

I am robb'd, Sir, and beaten; my mony and apparel ta'en from me, and these detestable things put upon me.

Clo.

What, by a horse-man, or a footman?

Aut.

A footman, sweet Sir, a footman.

Clo.

Indeed, he should be a foot-man, by the garments he hath left with thee; if this be a horse-man's coat, it hath seen very hot sevice. Lend me thy hand, I'll help thee. Come, lend me thy hand.

Aut.

Oh! good Sir, tenderly, oh!

Clo.

Alas, poor soul.

Aut.

O good Sir, softly, good Sir: I fear, Sir, my shoulder-blade is out.

Clo.

How now? canst stand?

Aut.

Softly, dear Sir; good Sir softly; you ha' done me a charitable office.

Clo.

Dost lack any mony? I have a little mony for thee.

Aut.

No, good sweet Sir; no, I beseech you, Sir; I have a kinsman not past three quarters of a mile hence, unto whom I was going, I shall there have mony, or any thing I want: offer me no mony, I pray you; that kills my heart.

Clo.

What manner of fellow was he that robb'd you?

&wlquo;Aut.

&wlquo;A fellow, Sir, that I have known to go about ^{6 note}with trol-my-dames: I knew him once a

servant of the prince; I cannot tell, good Sir, for which of his virtues it was, but he was certainly whipp'd out of the court.&wrquo;

&wlquo;Clo.

&wlquo;His vices, you would say; there's no virtue whipp'd out of the court; they cherish it to make it stay there, and yet it will no more but abide.&wrquo;

Aut.

Vices I would say, Sir. I know this man well, &wlquo;he hath been since an ape-bearer, then a process-server, a bailiff; then he compass'd a ^{7 note}motion of the prodigal son, and married a tinker's wife within a mile where my land and living lies; and, having flown over many knavish professions, he settled only in a rogue;&wrquo; some call him Autolicus.

Clo.

Out upon him, prig! for my life, prig;— he haunts wakes, fairs, and bear-baitings.

Aut.

Very true, Sir; he, Sir, he; that's the rogue, that put me into this apparel.

Clo.

Not a more cowardly rogue in all Bohemia; if you had but look'd big, and spit at him, he'd have run.

Aut.

I must confess to you, Sir, I am no fighter; I am false of heart that way, and that he knew, I warrant him.

Clo.

How do you now?

Aut.

Sweet Sir, much better than I was; I can stand, and walk; I will even take my leave of you, and pace softly towards my kinsman's.

Clo.

Shall I bring thee on thy way?

Aut.

No, good-fac'd Sir; no, sweet Sir.

Clo.

Then, farewel, I must go to buy spices for our sheep-shearing.

Aut.

Prosper you, sweet Sir! Your purse is not hot enough to purchase your spice. I'll be with you at your sheep-shearing too: if I make not this cheat

bring out another, and the shearers prove sheep, ^{8 note}let me be unroll'd, and my name put into the book of virtue!