PRIOR. That was, my lord, but now is Robert Hood;
A simple yeoman, as his servants were.
WIFE. Back with that leg, my Lord Prior: there be some that were his
servants think foul scorn to be called yeomen.
PRIOR. I cry your worship mercy, Mistress Warman:
The squire, your husband, was his servant once.
LIT. JOHN. A scurvy squire, with reverence of these lords.
WIFE. Does he not speak treason, pray?
ELY. Sirrah, ye are too saucy: get you hence.
WAR. But hear me first, my lords, with patience.
This scoffing, careless fellow, Little John,
Hath loaden hence a horse 'twixt him and Much,
A silly, rude knave--Much, the miller's son.
_Enter_ MUCH, _Clown_.
MUCH. I am here to answer for myself, and have taken you in two lies at
once: first, Much is no knave, neither was it a horse Little John and I
loaded, but a little curtal of some five handfuls high, sib to the ape's
only beast at Paris Garden.[176]
LIT. JOHN. But, Master Warman, you have loaded carts,
And turned my lord's goods to your proper use.
Whoever hath the right, you do the wrong,
And are--
WIFE. What is he, kneve?
LIT. JOHN. Unworthy to be nam'd a man.
MUCH. And I'll be sworn for his wife.
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