The Sheriff with staves, With catchpoles and knaves, Are coming, I see: High time 'tis for me, To leave off my babble And fond ribble-rabble.

for yet my house it is, And follow him, ye catchpole-bribed grooms; For neither are ye lords nor gentlemen, That will be hired to wrong a nobleman: For hired ye were last night, I know it, I, To be my guests, my faithless guests this day, That your kind host you trothless might betray.

He is a catchpole's morning's draught, for the news that such a gallant has come yesternight to town, draws out of him both muscadel and money too.

How many Proserpinas, with those catchpoles, doth Pluto take?