GLO. Let them alone; let them search their fills.
BLO. I'll look to their fingers for all that.
GLO. Do so, good Block; be careful, honest Block.
BLO. Sir stammerer and your wa-watch, y'are pa-past, i'faith. [_Exit_.
GLO, Will you not speak, knaves? tell me who you seek.
RED. Ma-marry, sir, we s-seek a va-va-vacabond, a fu-fugative, my la-lady's own b-brother; but, and he were the po-po-pope's own b-brother, I would s-search f-f-for him; for I have a p-poor father r-ready to be ha-ha-hang'd f-f-for him.
GLO. O, 'tis for Gloster? marry, search, a' God's name, Seek, peace[494]; will he break prison too? It's a pity he should live; nay, I defy him. Come, look about, search every little corner, Myself will lead the way; pray you, come. Seek, seek, and spare not, though it be labour lost: He comes not under my roof; hear ye, wife? He comes not hither, take it for a warning.
RED. You sp-sp-speak like an honest ge-ge-gentleman, re-re-rest you me-me-merry! co-co-come, my f-f-friends, I be-believe h-h-he r-ran by the g-g-garden w-wall toward the wa-water side.
GLO. This fellow is of the humour I would choose my wife: Few words and many paces; a word and away; and so Must I. Sister, adieu; pray you for me; I'll do the like for you. Robin, farewell; commend me to the Prince.
GLO. No, I'll not trust the changing humours of old Fauconbridge. Adieu, young earl; sister, let's kiss and part. Tush, never mourn, I have a merry heart. [_Exit_.
ROB. What, weeping, lady? Then I perceive you have forgot Blackheath!
LADY F. No, there I'll learn both of his life and death.
ROB. Till Monday, madam, I must take my leave.
ROB. Nay, if Robin fail ye, Let him have never favour of fair lady!
LADY F. Meanwhile, I'll spend my time in prayers and tears, That Gloster may escape these threat'ned fears. [_Exit_
SKINK. Thus jets my noble Skink along the streets, To whom each bonnet vails, and all knees bend; And yet my noble humour is too light By the six shillings. Here are two crack'd groats To helter-skelter at some vaulting-house[496]. But who comes yonder? ha! old Fauconbridge? Hath a brave chain; were John and he good friends, That chain were mine, and should unto Blackheath. I'll venture; it's but trial: luck may fall. Good morrow, good Sir Richard Fauconbridge.