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Cud. I think she 'll prove a witch in earnest.--[Aside.}--Yes, I could find in my heart to strike her three-quarters deep in love with me too. Saw. But dost thou think that I can do't, and I

alone ? Cud. Truly, mother witch, I do verily believe so; and, when I see it done, I shall be half-persuaded so too.

Saw. It is enough; what art can do, be sure of. Turn to the west, and whatsoe'er thou hear'st Or seest, stand silent, and be not afraid.

[She stamps on the ground : the Dog appears,

and fawns, and leaps upon her. Cud. Afraid, mother witch !—“ turn my face to the west!" I said I should always have a backfriend of her; and now it's out. An her little devil should be hungry,—'T is woundy cold sureI dudder and shake like an aspen leaf every joint of me. Saw. To scandal and disgrace pursue 'em, Et sanctabicetur nomen tuum.

[Exit Dog. How now, my son, how is 't?

Cud. Scarce in a clean life, mother witch.-But did your goblin and you spout Latin together ? Saw. A kind of charm I work by ; didst thou

hear me? Cud. I heard I know not the devil what mumble in a scurvy base tone, like a drum that had taken cold in the head the last muster. Very comfortable words; what were they? and who taught them you?

Saw. A great learned man.

Cud. Learned man! learned devil it was as soon! But what? what comfortable news about the party?

Saw. Who? Kate Carter? I'll tell thee. Thou know'st the stile at the west end of thy father's pease-field; be there to-morrow night after sunset; and the first live thing thou seest be sure to follow, and that shall bring thee to thy love.

Cud. In the pease-field ? has she a mind to cod. lings already ?! " The first living thing I meet, you say, shall bring me to her?

Saw. To a sight of her, I mean. She will seem wantonly coy, and flee thee; but follow her close and boldly: do but embrace her in thy arms once, and she is thine own.

Cud. “At the stile, at the west end of my father's pease-land, the first live thing I see, follow and embrace her, and she shall be thine.”

.Nay, an I come to embracing once, she shall be mine; I'll go near to make a taglet else.

(E.cit. Saw. A ball well bandied ! now the set 's half

won; The father's wrong I'll wreak upon the son. [Exit.


CARTER'S House. Enter CARTER, WARBECK, and SOMERTON. Car. How. now, gentlemen! cloudy? I know, master Warbeck, you are in a fog about my daughter's marriage.

War. And can you blame me, sir?

Car. Nor you me justly. Wedding and hanging are tied up both in a proverb; and destiny is the juggler that unties the knot: my hope is, you are reserved to a richer fortune than my poor daughter.

War. However, your promise-
Car. Is a kind of debt, I confess it.
War. Which honest men should pay.

Car. Yet some gentlemen break in that point, now and then, by your leave, sir.

1 Codlings.] By codlings are meant young pease ; so common was the word in this sense, that the women who gathered pease for the London markets were called codders; a name which they still retain. GIFFORD.

Som. I confess thou hast had a little wrong in the wench; but patience is the only salve to cure it. Since Thorney has won the wench, he has most reason to wear her.

War. Love in this kind admits no reason to wear her.

Car. Then Love 's a fool, and what wise man will take exception?

Som. Come, frolic, Ned! were every man master of his own fortune, Fate might pick straws, and Destiny go a wool-gathering.

War. You hold yours in a string though: 't is well; but if there be any equity, look thou to meet the like usage ere long.

Som. In my love to her sister Katherine ? Indeed, they are a pair of arrows drawn out of one quiver, and should fly at an even length; if she do run after her sister,

War. Look for the same mercy at my hands, as I have received at thine.

Som. She'll keep a surer compass ;' I have too strong a confidence to mistrust her."

Enter FRANK THORNEY and SUSAN. But see, the bridegroom and bride come; Good-morrow, master bridegroom. War. Come, give thee joy: mayst thou live long

and happy In thy fair choice! Frank. I thank ye, gentlemen; kind master War

beck, I find you loving. War. Thorney, that creature,-(much good do

thee with her!) Virtue and beauty hold fair mixture in her; She's rich, no doubt, in both; yet were she fairer, Thou art right worthy of her: love her, Thorney,

1 She'll keep a surer compass.) The metaphor is still from archery. Arrows shot compass-wise, that is, with a certain elevation, were genecally considered as going more steadily to the mark.-GIFFORD.

'Tis nobleness in thee, in her but duty. The match is fair and equal, thé success I leave to censure;' farewell, mistress bride! [Erit.

Som. Good master Thorney

Car. Nay, you shall not part till you see the barrels run a-tilt, gentlemen. [Exit with SOMERTON.

Sus. Why change you your face, sweetheart ?
Frank. Who, Il for nothing.
Sus. Dear, say not so; a spirit of your con-

Cannot endure this change for nothing.
I have observ'd strange variations in you.

Frank. In me ?

Sus. In you, sir.
Awake, you seem to dream, and in your sleep
You utter sudden and distracted accents,
Like one at enmity with peace.
Dear loving husband, if I
May dare to challenge any interest in you,
Give me the reason fully; you may trust
My_breast as safely as your own.

Frank. With what ?
You half-amaze me; prithee-

Sus. Come, you shall not,
Indeed you shall not shut me from partaking
The least dislike that grieves you; I am all yours.

Frank. And I all thine.

Sus. You are not, if you keep
The least grief from me; but I find the cause,

grew from me.
Frank. From you?

Sus. From some distaste
In me or my behaviour; you are not kind
In the concealment. 'Las, sir, I am young,
Silly, and plain: more, strange to those contents
A wife should offer: say but in what I fail,
I'll study satisfaction.

1 j.e, opinion.

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Frank. Come; in nothing.

Sus. I know I do; knew I as well in what,
You should not long be sullen. Prithee, love,
If I have been immodest or too bold,

't in a frown ; if peevishly too nice, Passion is her w
Show 't in smile; thy liking is the glass
By which I'll habit my behaviour.

et glass facing is Frank. Wherefore

where the sun bir Dost weep now?


Mirrored and the heart Sus. You, sweet, have the power

To make me passionate as an April-day ;',
Now smile, then weep; now pale, then crimson red: Aceh
You are the powerful moon of my blood's sea,
To make it ebb or flow into my face,
As your looks change.

Frank. Change thy conceit, I prithee;
Thou art all perfection; Diana herself
Swells in thy thoughts, and moderates thy beauty.
Within thy left eye amorous Cupid sits
Feathering love-shafts, whose golden heads he dipp'd
In thy chaste breast ;in the other lies
Blushing Adonis scarf'd in modesties;
And still as wanton Cupid blows love-fires,
Adonis quenches out unchaste desires :
And from these two I briefly do imply
A perfect emblem of thy modesty.

Then, prithee, dear, maintain no more dispute,
For where thou speak’st, it 's fit all tongues be mute.

Sus. Come, come, these golden strings of flattery
Shall not tie up my speech, sir; I must know
The ground of your

Frank. Then look here;
For here, here is the fen in which this hydra
Of discontent grows rank.

1 Passionate as an April-day,] i. e. changeful, capricions, of many moods.--GIFFORD.

2 The florid and overstrained nature of Frank's language, which is evidently assumed to disguise his real feelings, is we!l contrusted with the pure and affectionate simplicity of Susan.-GIFFORD.

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