"
"Right well, deere gossip, ye advized have,"
Said then the Foxe, "but I this doubt will save:
For ere we farther passe, I will devise 195
A pasport for us both in fittest wize,
And by the names of souldiers us protect,
That now is thought a civile begging sect.
Be you the souldier, for you likest are
For manly semblance, and small skill in warre: 200
I will but wayte on you, and, as occasion
Falls out, my selfe fit for the same will fashion."
The pasport ended, both they forward went;
The Ape clad souldierlike, fit for th'intent,
In a blew iacket with a crosse of redd 205
And manie slits, as if that he had shedd
Much blood throgh many wounds therein receaved,
Which had the use of his right arme bereaved,
Upon his head an old Scotch cap he wore,
With a plume feather all to peeces tore; 210
His breeches were made after the new cut,
_Al Portugese_, loose like an emptie gut,
And his hose broken high above the heeling,
And his shooes beaten out with traveling.
But neither sword nor dagger he did beare; 215
Seemes that no foes revengement he did feare;
In stead of them a handsome bat he held,
[_Bat_, stick.
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