⁠Pellegrin. Art mad?⁠95

⁠Nassurat. By this light, three or four of their skins, and
we'd rob! 'Twould be the better way. Come, come, let's
go.[Exeunt

⁠Captain. Let the horse skirt about this place: we'll make
A search within.[Exeunt and enter again⁠100
Now disperse:
I' th' hollow of the wood we'll meet again.[Exit

⁠Soldiers. Who goes there? Speak! O, they are fiddlers!
Saw you no men nor horse i' th' wood to-day
As you came along?⁠105

⁠Nassurat. Speak, speak, rogue.[He pulls one of the Fiddlers by the skirt

⁠1st Fiddler. None, sir.

⁠Soldiers. Pass on.[Exeunt

⁠Nassurat. Gentlemen, what say you to th' invention
now? I'm a rogue, if I do not think I was design'd for⁠110
the helm of state: I am so full of nimble stratagems,
that I should have ordered affairs, and carried it against
the stream of a faction with as much ease as a skipper
would laver it against the wind.[Exeunt

⁠Captain. What, no news of any?⁠115

⁠Soldiers. No, not a man stirring.

Soho! away, away!

⁠Captain. What? any discovery?

⁠Soldier. Yes, the horse has staid three fellows, fiddlers
they call themselves. There's something in't: they look⁠120
suspiciously. One of them has offer'd at confession once or
twice, like a weak stomach at vomiting; but 'twould not
out.

⁠Captain. A little cold iron thrust down his throat will
fetch it up. I am excellent at discovery, and can draw a⁠125
secret out of a knave with as much dexterity as a barber-
surgeon would a hollow tooth. Let's join forces with
them.[Exeunt