Mayor.

What? have you search'd the town?

Con.

All the town, sir; we have not left a house unsearch'd that uses to lodge.

Mayor.
Surely my lord of Rochester was then deceiv'd,
Or ill inform'd of sir John Oldcastle;
Or if he came this way, he's past the town:
He could not else have scap'd you in the search.

Con.
The privy watch hath been abroad all night;
And not a stranger lodgeth in the town
But he is known; only a lusty priest
We found in bed with a young pretty wench,
That says she is his wife, yonder at the Shears:
But we have charg'd the host with his forth-coming
To-morrow morning.

Mayor.

What think you best to do?

Con.

'Faith, master mayor, here's a few straggling houses beyond the bridge, and a little inn where carriers use to lodge; although I think surely he would ne'er lodge there: but we'll go search, and the rather because there came notice to the town the last night of an Irishman, that had done a murther, whom we are to make search for.

Mayor.

Come then, I pray you, and be circumspect.