_Envy._ A, sir, evil mote thou speed, That so can read his destiny!
_Mis._ Will ye suffer this knave in your company? Then God be with you! I will forsake you.
_Pros._ Go hence! or in faith I shall make you!
_Peace._ Then to almighty God I betake you.
_Envy._ Let me come to that bragger! I shall thrust him through the arse with my dagger.
[_And here they face_ PEACE _out of the place_.
How say ye? was not this a good face, To drive a knave out of the place?
_Mis._ In faith, thou made him run apace! Thou looked as thou had been mad.
_Pros._ Now, by my troth! my heart is glad; Some minstrel now I would we had, To revel and dance; for, by saint Chad! I am so light methink I flee!
_Envy._ Yea, marry! so should it be; For now I hold you wise.
_Mis._ Sir, and ye will do mine advice, Let us go straight to the Fleur de Lys; There shall ye find a man will play at dice D1,_v._ With you for an hundred pound.
_Mis._ Colhazard; came late from beyond the sea, Ragged and torn, in a garded coat; And, in his purse, never a groat; And now he goeth like a lord!
_Pros._ I pray thee tell me at one word-- Is he a gentleman bore?
_Envy._ Tush! take no thought therefore! For be he gentleman, knave, or boy, If he come hither with trifle or a toy, He can no money lack.
_Pros._ Now by the bread that God brake! I think long till I him see! Mirth! go before and ordain a good dish; One of flesh and another of fish.
_Envy._ Nay, let all be flesh! A young pullet, tender and nesh, That never came on broach--have with thee or thou go!
_Envy._ Four quarters of a knave, Roasted upon a spit! [_Exit_ MISRULE.
_Pros._ Now, by my troth! and Colhazard will sit, I will play as long as an hundred pound will last.
_Envy._ And ye will play an hundred pound at a cast, He will keep you play.
_Pros._ Then let us go our way; I sit on thorns till I come there.
_Envy._ That shall make your thrift full bare.
_Envy._ I say, we shall have good cheer When we come there. [_Exeunt ambo._
_Peace._ When Phebus draweth into the occidental, D2,_r._ And obscured with clouds misty and dark, Then trees, herbs, and grass, by course natural, Want their chief comfort: thus saith many a clerk. And, likewise, that a man in his wark Is destitute of reason following sensual operation. The last time I was in this place Prosperity unto Misrule put his whole confidence. He regarded not my counsel; he lacked grace; Which, in time coming, shall turn him to inconvenience. With hazarders and rioters he keepeth residence At clash and cards, with all unthrifty game; Which, in continuance, shall bring him shame. To him yet I will resort: If he be brought in poverty I shall do him all the comfort And all the help that lieth in me; I will never rest till I him see. But seek about, from place to place, And bring him to some better grace. [_Exit._