Act 4 — SCENE III.

A Room, with a door opening into Fitsgrave’s Bed-chamber.

Enter Goldstone.

Gol. Master Bouser, master Bouser! ha, ha, ho! master Bouser!

Fit. [within] Holla!

284Gol. What, not out of thy kennel, master Bouser?

Fit. [within] Master Goldstone? you’re an early gallant, sir.

Gol. A fair cloak yonder, i’faith. [Aside.]—By my troth, ’a bed, master Bouser? you remember your promise well o’ernight!

Fit. [within] Why, what’s a’ clock, sir?

Gol. Do you ask that now? why, the chimes are spent at Saint Bride’s.

Fit. [within] ’Tis a gentleman’s hour: faith, master Goldstone, I’ll be ready in a trice.

Gol. Away, there’s no trust to you!

Fit. [within] Faith, I’ll come instantly.

Gol. Nay, choose whether you will or no,—by my troth, your cloak shall go before you.

[Aside, and takes Fitsgrave’s cloak.

Fit. [within] Nay, master Goldstone, I ha’ sworn: do you hear, sir?

Gol. Away, away! faith, I’m angry with you: pox, a-bed now! I’m ashamed of it. [Exit.

As Goldstone goes out, Fitsgrave enters in his shirt.

Fit. Foot, my cloak, my cloak, master Goldstone! ’slife, what mean you by this, sir? you’ll bring it back again, I hope. No? not yet? by my troth, I care very little for such kind of jesting: methinks this familiarity now extends a little too far, unless it be a new fashion come forth this morning secretly; yesterday ’twould have shewn unmannerly and saucily. I scarce know yet what to think on’t. Well, there’s no great profit in standing in my shirt, I’ll on with my clothes: has bound me to follow the suit: my cloak’s a stranger; he was made but yesterday, and I do not love to trust him alone in company. [Exit.

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