_Fisher_. I'l showe thee a redy waye to prevent boathe.

_Clowne_. How's that?

_Fisher_. Marry, thus: go thou quietly thy way, I'l go peacably myne;
betraye thou mee to nobody, as I meane to impart to thee nothinge;
seeke thy preferment by land as I have doone myne by sea; bee thou mute,
I'l be dumbe; thou silent, I mumbudgett; thou dismisse mee, I'l acquitte
thee; so thou art neather theife nor accessary.

_Clowne_. Syrrah, though you bee owner of the boate I'l steare my course
at healme.

_Fisher_. Hands off, I saye. But hark a noyse within
Letts cease our controversy till wee see [_Noyse_.
An end of that.

_Clowne_. Trew, and bee judg'd by the next quiet man wee meete.

_Fisher_. Content.

_Enter after a noyse or tumult, Ashburne, his wyfe,
Palestra, Scribonia and Godfrey_.

_Woman_. I'l not beleeve a sillable thou speak'st;
False harts and false toonges go together still,
They boathe are quick in thee.

_Ashb_. Have patience woman.

_Woman_. I have ben too longe a grizell. Not content
To have thy hawnts abroad, where there are marts
And places of lewd brothelry inoughe
Wheare thou maiest wast thy body, purse and creditt,
But thou wooldst make thy private howse a stewes!

_Ashb_. But heare me, wyfe.

_Wom_. I'l heare none but myselfe.
Are your legges growne so feeble on the suddeine
They feyle when you shoold travell to your whores,
But you must bringe them home and keepe them heere
Under my nose? I am not so past my sences
But at this age can smell your knavery.

_Pal_. Good woman, heare's none suche.

_Woman_. Bold baggadge, peace!
'Tis not your turne to prate yet; lust and impudens
I know still goe togeather.[126] Shewes it well
In one thats of thy yeares and gravity,
That ought to bee in lyfe and government
To others an example, nowe to doate
So neere the grave! to walke before his dooer
With a younge payer of strumpetts at his tale!
Naye, make his honest and chast wyfe no better
Then a madam makarell![127]

_Godfr_. Why, this stormes woorse then that until'd the howse!

_Ashb_. But understand mee:
Itt is meare pitty and no bad intent,
No unchast thought but my meare charity
In the remembrans of our longe lost child,
To showe som love to these distressed maydens.

_Woman_. Sweete charity! nay, usury withall!
For one chyld lost, whose goodnes might have blest
And bin an honor to our family,
To bringe mee home a cuple of loose thinges!
I know not what to terme them, b