Prin. Thou art perfect

Poin. Francis.
Enter Drawer.

Fran. Anon, anon sir; looke downe into the Pomgarnet,
Ralfe

Prince. Come hither Francis

Fran. My Lord

Prin. How long hast thou to serue, Francis?
Fran. Forsooth fiue yeares, and as much as to-
Poin. Francis

Fran. Anon, anon sir

Prin. Fiue yeares: Berlady a long Lease for the clinking
of Pewter. But Francis, darest thou be so valiant, as
to play the coward with thy Indenture, & show it a faire
paire of heeles, and run from it?
Fran. O Lord sir, Ile be sworne vpon all the Books in
England, I could finde in my heart

Poin. Francis

Fran. Anon, anon sir

Prin. How old art thou, Francis?