[_Exit_ ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
FORTUNATUS.
And if you do, by this hand, I'll play the conjuror.
Blush, Fortunatus, at the base conceit!
To stand aloof, like one that's in a trance, And with thine eyes behold that miscreant imp, Whose tongue['s] more venom['s] than the serpent's sting, Before thy face thus taunt thy dearest friends-- Ay, thine own father--with reproachful terms!
Thy sister Lelia, she is bought and sold, And learned Sophos, thy thrice-vowed friend, Is made a stale by this base cursed crew And damned den of vagrant runagates: But here, in sight of sacred heav'ns, I swear By all the sorrows of the Stygian souls, By Mars his bloody blade, and fair Bellona's bowers, I vow, these eyes shall ne'er behold my father's face, These feet shall never pass these desert plains; But pilgrim-like, I'll wander in these woods, Until I find out Sopho's secret walks.
And sound the depth of all their plotted drifts.
Nor will I cease, until these hands revenge Th'injurious wrong, that's offer'd to my friend, Upon the workers of this stratagem.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ PEG _sola_.
I' faith, i' faith, I cannot tell what to do; I love, and I love, and I cannot tell who: Out upon this love! for, wot you what?
I have suitors come huddle, twos upon twos, And threes upon threes: and what think you Troubles me? I must chat and kiss with all comers, Or else no bargain.
_Enter_ WILL CRICKET, _and kisses her_.
WILL CRICKET.
A bargain, i' faith: ha, my sweet honey-sops! how dost thou?
PEG.
Well, I thank you, William; now I see y'are a man of your word.
WILL CRICKET.
A man o' my word, quotha? why, I ne'er broke promise in my life that I kept.
PEG.
No, William, I know you did not; but I had forgotten me.
WILL CRICKET.
Dost hear, Peg? if e'er I forget thee, I pray God, I may never remember thee.
PEG.
Peace! here comes my granam Midnight.
_Enter_ MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
What, Peg! what, ho! what, Peg, I say! what, Peg, my wench? where art thou, trow?
PEG.
Here, granam, at your elbow.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
What mak'st thou here this twatter light? I think thou'rt in a dream; I think the fool haunts thee.
WILL CRICKET.
Zounds, fool in your face! Fool? O monstrous intitulation. Fool? O, disgrace to my person. Zounds, fool not me, for I cannot brook such a cold rasher, I can tell you. Give me but such another word, and I'll be thy tooth-drawer--even of thy butter-tooth, thou toothless trot, thou!
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Nay, William, pray ye, be not angry; you must bear with old folks, they be old and testy, hot and hasty. Set not your wit against mine, William; for I thought you no harm, by my troth.
WILL CRICKET.
Well, your good words have something laid my choler. But, granam, shall I be so bold to come to your house now and then to keep Peg company?
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Ay, and beshrew thy good heart, and thou dost not. Come, and we'll have a piece of a barley bag-pudding or something, and thou shalt be very heartily welcome, that thou shalt, and Peg shall bid thee welcome too.
Pray ye, maid, bid him welcome, and make much of him, for, by my vay, he's a good proper springal.[146]
PEG.
Granam, if you did but see him dance, 'twould do your heart good. Lord!
'twould make anybody love him, to see how finely he'll foot it.
MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
William, prythee, go home to my house with us, and take a cup of our beer, and learn to know the way again another time.
WILL CRICKET.
Come on, granam. I'll man you home, i' faith.
Come, Peg.
[_Exeunt_.
_Enter_ GRIPE, _old_ PLOD-ALL _and his son_ PETER, _and_ CHURMS _the lawyer_.
PLOD-ALL.
Come hither, Peter; hold up your head.
Where's your cap and leg, sir boy, ha?
PETER PLOD-ALL.
By your leave, Master Gripe.
GRIPE.
Welcome, Peter; give me thy hand: thou'rt welcome. By'r Lady, this is a good, proper, tall fellow, neighbour; call you him a boy?
PLOD-ALL.
A good, pretty, square springal,[147] sir.
GRIPE.
Peter, you have seen my daughter, I am sure.
How do you like her? What says she to you?
PETER PLOD-ALL.
Faith, I like her well, and I have broken my mind to her, and she would say neither ay nor no. But, thank God, sir, we parted good friends, for she let me kiss her hand, and bad, _Farewell, Peter_, and therefore I think I am like enough to speed. How think you, Master Churms?
CHURMS.
Marry, I think so too, for she did show no token of any dislike of your motion, did she?
PETER PLOD-ALL.
No, not a whit, sir.