_Take a little Failer,
And throw him to the jailor;
And there let him lie,
Till he has paid his tailor._

_Burr_. You are very smart upon one another, gentlemen.

_Fail_. This is nothing between us; I use to tell him of his
title, _Fiery facias_; and his setting dog, that runs into
ale-houses before him, and comes questing out again, if any of the
woots, his customers, be within.

_Bib_. I'faith 'tis true; and I use to tell him of his two
capon's tails about his hat, that are laid spread-eaglewise to make a
feather; I would go into the snow at any time, and in a quarter of
an hour I would come in with a better feather upon my head; and so
farewel, sir; I have had the better on you hitherto, and for this time
I am resolved to keep it.

[_Exit_ BIBBER.

_Fail_. The rogue's too hard for me; but the best on't is, I have
my revenge upon his purse.

_Enter_ ISABELLA.

_Isa_. Came not Sir Timorous this way, gentlemen? He left us in
the garden, and said he would look out my Lord Nonsuch, to make his
peace with him.