SIR JOHN.
The devil do ye good on't, I am blind, ye have blown me up.

KING.
Nay, tarry, priest; ye shall not leave us yet.
Do not these pieces fit each other well?

SIR JOHN.
What if they do?

KING.
Thereby begins a tale:
There was a thief, in face much like Sir John--
But twas not he, that thief was all in green--
Met me last day at Black Heath, near the park,
With him a woman. I was all alone
And weaponless, my boy had all my tools,
And was before providing me a boat.
Short tale to make, sir John--the thief, I mean--
Took a just hundreth pound in gold from me.
I stormed at it, and swore to be revenged
If e'er we met. He, like a lusty thief,
Brake with his teeth this Angel just in two
To be a token at our meeting next,
Provided I should charge no Officer
To apprehend him, but at weapon's point
Recover that and what he had beside.
Well met, sir John; betake ye to your tools
By torch light, for, master parson, you are he