Houses, of Yorke and Lancaster.
866.1Poore man. No truly
sir.
¶Poore man No indeed mai
ster.
¶Humphrey Whats thine owne name?
¶Poore man. Sander, and it plea
se you mai
ster.
870Humphrey. Then Sander
sit there, the lyinge
st knaue in Chri-
¶stendom. If thou had
st bene born blind, thou mighte
st as well haue
¶knowne all our names, as thus to name the
seuerall colours we doo
875weare. Sight may di
stingui
sh of colours, but
sodeinly to nominate
¶them all, it is impo
ssible. My Lords,
saint Albones here hath done a
¶Miracle, and would you not thinke his cunning to be great, that
880could re
store this Cripple to his legs againe.
¶Poore man. Oh mai
ster I would you could.
¶Humphrey. My Mai
sters of
saint Albones,
¶Haue you not Beadles in your Towne,
¶And things called whippes?
885Mayor. Yes my Lord, if it plea
se your grace.
¶Humph. Then
send for one pre
sently.
¶Mayor. Sirrha, go fetch the Beadle hither
straight.
¶Humph. Now fetch me a
stoole hither by and by.
890Now
sirrha, If you meane to
saue your
selfe from whipping,
¶Leape me ouer this
stoole and runne away.
¶Poore man. Ala
sse mai
ster I am not able to
stand alone,
¶You go about to torture me in vaine.
895Humph. Well
sir, we mu
st haue you finde your legges.
¶Sirrha Beadle, whip him till he leape ouer that
same
stoole.
¶Beadle. I will my Lord, come on
sirrha, off with your doublet
900Poore man. Alas mai
ster what
shall I do, I am not able to
stand.
¶After the Beadle hath hit him one girke, he leapes ouer
¶the stoole and runnes away, and they run after him,
¶crying, A miracle, a miracle.
¶Hump. A miracle, a miracle, let him be taken againe, & whipt
910through euery Market Towne til he comes at Barwicke where he
¶Mayor. It
shall be done my Lord.
Exet Mayor.
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