Why, Master Sheriff, think you me a fool?
What justice is there you should search my trunks,
Or stay my goods for that my master owes?
SHER. Here's Justice Warman, steward to your lord,
Suspects some coin, some jewels, or some plate
That 'longs unto your lord, are in your trunks,
And the extent is out for all his goods;
Therefore we ought to see none be convey'd.
WAR. True, Little John; I am the sorrier.
LIT. JOHN. A plague upon ye else, how sore ye weep!
Why, say, thou upstart, that there were some help,
Some little, little help in this distress,
To aid our lord and master comfortless,
Is it thy part, thou screen-fac'd snotty-nose,
To hinder him that gave thee all thou hast?
_Enter_ JUSTICE WARMAN'S [_French_] WIFE _oddly attired_.
WIFE. Who's that, husband? you, you! means he you?
WAR. I, by'r Lady is it, I thank him.
WIFE. Ah, ye knave you! God's pity, husband, why dis no your worship
send the kneve to Newgate?
LIT. JOHN. Well, Master Sheriff, shall I pass or no?
SHER. Not without search.
LIT. JOHN. Then here the casket stands:
Any that dares unto it set their hands,
Let him begin.
WIFE. Do, hisband;
You are a majesty: I warrant
There's old knacks, chains, and other toys.
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