_Prov_. Up with him, come: set all your hands &heave him!
_Exec_. A plaguy, heavy Lubber! Sure this fellow
Has a bushell of plot in's belly, he weighes so massy.
Heigh! now againe! he stincks like a hung poll cat.
This rotten treason has a vengeance savour;
This venison wants pepper and salt abhominably.
_Prov_.
Pyn him aloft, and pin him sure.
_Exec_. I warrant ye;
If ere he run away againe ile swing for him.
This would make a rare signe for a Cookes shop,
The Christmas pie.
[_Exeunt_Executioners_.
_Prov_.
Come; now about the rest.-Keepe the Court cleere still.
[_Exeunt_Provost_and_Soldiers_.
2 _Cap_. What thinck you now?
1 _Cap_. Now I am afraid of him.
This prologue should portend a fatall Tragedie:
Theis examples will make 'em shake.
2 _Cap_. 'Tis well they have 'em;
Their stubbornenes and pride requires 'em greater.
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