This honest fellow and I had our mansion cottage in the
suburbs of this city, hard by the temple of Mercury. And
by the common soldiers of the Shitens, the Scithians--
what do you call them?--with all the suburbs were burnt
to the ground, and the ashes are left there, for the country
wives to wash bucks withall.

And that which grieves me most,
My loving wife,
(O cruel strife!)
The wicked flames did roast.
And therefore, captain crust,
We will continually cry,
Except you seek a remedy
Our houses to reedify
Which now are burnt to dust.

BOTH CRY.
Wild fire and pitch, wild fire and pitch.

ALBA.
Well, we must remedy these outrages,
And throw revenge upon their hateful heads.
And you, good fellows, for your houses burnst,
We will remunerate you store of gold,
And build your houses by our palace gate.

STRUMBO.
Gate! O petty treason to my person! nowhere
else but by your backside? Gate! Oh how I am