_Dennis_. Pray, Syr, your hand to rayse him.
_D'Av_. Nowe lett him post, whether his fate shall guide him.
[_Exeunt_.
_Ent. Rich. and Baker_.
_Baker_. The mare's ready.
_Fr. R_. Only the key to ope the cloyster gate,
Then all is as it shoold be.
_Baker_. Tak't, there tis.
But make hast, good Fryar _Richard_; you will else
Have no new bredd to dinner.
_Fr. R_. Feare not, baker;
I'l proove her mettall. Thus I back one mare
Least I shoold ryde another. [_Exit_.
_Baker_. It is the kindest novyce of my consciens
That ere woare hood or coole.
[_A noyse within. Trampling of Horses_.
What noyse is that? now by the Abbot's leave
I will looke out and see.
[_Clere_.
_Enter Averne and Dennis_.
_D'Av_. Howe nowe? the newes?
The cause of that strange uprore?
_Den_. Strange indeed,
But what th'event will bee, I cannott guesse.
_D'Av_. Howe is it, speake.
_Den_. I had no sooner, as your Lordshipp badd,
Putt him upon his voyadge, turn'd him out,
But the ould resty stallion snuft and neighd,
And smelt, I thinke, som mare, backt (I perceavd
By the moone light) by a Fryar, in whose pursuite
Our new made horseman with his threatninge lance,
Pistolles, and rotten armor made such noyse
That th'other, frighted, clamours throughe the streetes
Nothinge but deathe and murder.
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