_Hig._ Tell us,
If it be milling of a lag of duds,
The fetching of a back of cloaths or so;
We are horribly out of linnen.
_Hub._ No such matter.
_Hig._ Let me alone with the Farmers dog,
If you have a mind to the cheese-loft; 'tis but thus,
And he is a silenc'd Mastiff, during pleasure.
_Hub._ Would it would please you to be silent.
_Hig._ Mum.
_Woolf._ Who's there?
_Hub._ A friend, the Hunts-man.
_Hem._ O 'tis he.
_Hub._ I have kept touch Sir, which is the Earl of these?
Will he know a man now?
_Hem._ This my Lord's the Friend,
Hath undertook the service.
_Hub._ If't be worth
His Lordships thanks anon, when 'tis done
Lording, I'll look for't, a rude Wood-man,
I know how to pitch my toils, drive in my game:
And I have don't, both _Florez_ and his Father
Old _Gerrard_, with Lord _Arnold_ of _Benthuisen_,
_Cozen_, and _Jaculin_, young _Florez_'s Sister:
I have 'em all.
_Woolf._ Thou speak'st too much, too happy,
To carry faith with it.
_Hub._ I can bring you
Where you shall see, and find 'em.
_Woolf._ We will double
What ever _Hemskirk_ then hath promis'd thee.
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