PITY.
Peace, peace, sirs, I command you.
IMAGINATION.
Avaunt, old churl; whence comest thou?
And thou make too much, I shall break thy brow, And send thee home again.
PITY.
Ah, good sir, the peace I would have kept fain; Mine office is to see no man slain; And where they do amiss, to give them good counsel, Sin to forsake, and God's law them tell.
IMAGINATION.
Ah, sir, I ween'd thou hadst been drowned and gone: But I have spied, that there scaped one.
HICKSCORNER.
Imagination, do by the counsel of me, Be agreed with Freewill, and let us good fellows be; And then, as for this churl Pity, Shall curse the time that ever he came to land.
IMAGINATION.
Brother Freewill, give me your hand, And all mine ill will I forgive thee.
FREEWILL.
Sir, I thank you heartily; But what shall we do with this churl Pity?
IMAGINATION.
I will go to him, and pick a quarrel, And make him a thief, and say he did steal Of mine forty pound in a bag.
FREEWILL.
By God, that tidings will make him sad; And I will go fetch a pair of gyves, For in good faith he shall be set fast by the heels.
HICKSCORNER.
Have ado lightly, and be gone, And let us twain with him alone.
FREEWILL.
Now, farewell, I beshrew you everychone.
HICKSCORNER.
Ho, ho, Freewill you threw, and no mo.
IMAGINATION.
Thou lewd fellow, say'st thou that thy name is Pity?
Who sent thee hither to control me?
PITY.
Good sir, it is my property For to despise sinful living, And unto virtue men to bring, If that they will do after me.
IMAGINATION.
What, sir, art thou so pure holy?
Ah, see, this caitiff would be praised, I trow; And you thrive this year, I will lose a penny.
Lo, sirs, outward he beareth a fair face; But, and he meet with a wench in a privy place, I trow he would show her but little grace: By God, ye may trust me.
HICKSCORNER.
Lo, will ye not see this caitiff's meaning?
He would destroy us all, and all our kin, Yet had I liever see him hanged by the chin, Rather than that should be brought about; And with this dagger thou shalt have a clout, Without thou wilt be lightly be gone.
IMAGINATION.
Nay, brother, lay hand on him soon; For he japed my wife, and made me cuckold, And yet the traitor was so bold, That he stale forty pound of mine in money.
HICKSCORNER.
By Saint Mary, then he shall not scape; We will lead him straight to Newgate, For ever there shall he lie.
FREEWILL.
Ah, see, ah, see, sirs, what I have brought, A medicine for a pair of sore shins; At the King's Bench, sirs, I have you sought, But I pray you, who shall wear these?