[Exit.]

OLD MAN.
God bless you, good master Rafe, God save your life;
you are good to the poor still.

[Enter the Lord Powis disguised, and shroud himself.]

COBHAM.
What fellow's yonder comes along the grove?
Few passengers there be that know this way:
Me thinks he stops as though he stayed for me,
And meant to shroud himself amongst the bushes.
I know the Clergy hate me to the death,
And my religion gets me many foes:
And this may be some desperate rogue, suborned
To work me mischief.--As it pleaseth God!
If he come toward me, sure I'll stay his coming--
Be he but one man--what so'er he be.

[The Lord Powis comes on.]

I have been well acquainted with that face.

POWIS.
Well met, my honorable lord and friend.

COBHAM.
You are welcome, sir, what ere you be;
But of this sudden, sir, I do not know you.