u Captaine, as if he were made for him, and
he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at
table.

_Foul_. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages.

_Ia_. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently.

_Foul_. Doe so my good wagges.

_Wil_. Save you Knights.

_Ia_. Save you Captaine.
_Exeunt_.

_Foul_. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to
goe to this Supper?

_Rud_. What else?

_Goos_. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall,
Captaine.

_Foul_. That we will, I warrent you, sir _Giles_.

_Rud_. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man.

_Goos_. The Moone, sir _Cut_: I scorne the Moone yfaith. Slydd,
sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a
couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, I
cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tother
night.

_Rud_. What tricke, sir _Gyles_?

_Goos_. Why sir _Cut_. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you
know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it
needed, and run after it into _Finsbury_-fieldes ith calme evening to
see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by
this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into
the Ditch by Heaven.

_Rud_. That was ill done in her, indeed sir _Gyles_.

_Goos_. Ill done sir _Cut_? Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and
she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud
a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I
live, Ile be sworne to ye.

_Foul_. Come, Knights, to London: Horse, Horse, Horse.

_Rud_. In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because the
_French_ Moones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I
warrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, he
seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you
shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their
Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my wit
with their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall a
beating on them presently.

[_Exit_.

[SCENE 2.]

_Enter Lord Momford, and Clarence. Clarence, Horatio_.

_Cla_. Sing good _Horatio_, while I sigh, and write.
According to my master _Platos_ minde,
Th