neither
brave Courtier, bouncing Cavalier, nor boone Companion
if he sweare not some time; for they will
sweare, forsweare, and sweare.

_Io_. How sweare, forsweare, and sweare? how is
that?

_Fris_. They'll sweare at dyce, forsweare their debts, and sweare when
they loose their labour in love.

_Io_. Well, your maisters have much to answer for that bring ye up so
wickedly.

_Fris_. Nay, my maister is damn'd, I'll be sworne, for his verie soule
burnes in the firie eye of his faire mistresse.

_Io_. My maister is neither damnde nor dead, and yet is in the case of
both your maisters, like a woodden shepheard and a sheepish woodman;
for he is lost in seeking of a lost sheepe and spent in hunting a Doe
that hee would faine strike.

_Fris_. Faith, and I am founderd with slinging to and fro with Chesnuts,
Hazel-nuts, Bullaze and wildings[119] for presents from my maister to
the faire shepheardesse.

_Mop_. And I am tierd like a Calf with carrying a Kidde every weeke to
the cottage of my maister's sweet Lambkin.

_Io_. I am not tierd, but so wearie I cannot goe with following a
maister that followes his mistresse, that followes her shadow, that
followes the sunne, that followes his course.

_Fris_. That follows the colt, that followed the mare the man rode on
to Midleton. Shall I speake a wise word?

_Mop_. Do, and wee will burne our caps.

_Fris_. Are not we fooles?

_Io_. Is that a wise word?

_Fris_. Giue me leave; are not we fooles to weare our young feete to old
stumps, when there dwells a cunning man in a Cave hereby who for a bunch
of rootes, a bagge of nuts, or a bushell of crabs will tell us where
thou shalt find thy maister, and which of our maisters shall win the
wenche's favour?

_Io_. Bring me to him, _Frisco_: I'll give him all the poynts at my hose
to poynt me right to my maister.

_Mop_. A bottle of whey shall be his meed if he save me labour for
posting with presents.

_Enter Aramanthus with his Globe, &c_.

_Fris_. Here he comes: offend him not, _Ioculo_, for feare he turne thee
to a Iacke an apes.

_Mop_. And thee to an Owle.

_Io_. And thee to a wood-cocke.

_Fris_. A wood-cocke an Owle and an Ape.

_Mop_. A long bill a broade face and no tayle.

_Io_. Kisse it, Mopso, and be quiet: Ile salute him civilly. Good speed,
good man.

_Aram_. Welcome, bad boy.

_Fris_. He speakes to thee, _Ioculo_.

_Io_. Meaning thee, _Frisco_.

_Aram_. I speake and meane not him, nor