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land me but at Katherine's dock, my sweet Katherine's dock, and I'll be a fare to thee. That way? nay, which way thou wilt; thou know'st the way better than I:-fine gentle cur it is, and well brought up, I warrant him.

Enter a Spirit, vizarded. He throws off his mask, &c., and appears in the shape of KATHERINE. Spir. Thus throw I off mine own essential horror,

And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid, Whom this fool dotes on; we can meet his folly, But from his virtues must be runaways. We'll sport with him; but when we reckoning call, We know where to receive; the witch pays for all. [DOG barks. Cud. Ay! is that the watchword? She's come. [Sees the Spirit. Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking church,' in memory of thee; now come behind, kind cur.

And have I met thee, sweet Kate?

I will teach thee to walk so late.

Oh see, we meet in metre. [The Spirit retires as he advances. What! dost thou trip from me? Oh, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble! "Stay, nymph; stay, nymph," sing'd Apollo.

Tarry and kiss me; sweet nymph, stay!
Tarry and kiss me, sweet.

We will to Chessum Street,

And then to the house stands in the highway.

Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you.

[Exit, following the Spirit.

1 Barking church stood at the bottom of Seething Lane. It was destroyed in the great fire.-GIFFORD,

[Within.] Oh, help, help! I am drown'd, I am drown'd!

Re-enter CUDDY wet.

Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Cud. This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I'll never go to a wench in the dog-days again; yet 't is cool enough. Had you never a paw in this dogtrick? I'll throw you in at Limehouse, in some tanner's pit or other.

Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha!`

Cud. How now? who's that laughs at me? Hist, to him!-[DoG barks.]-Peace, peace! thou didst but thy kind neither; 't was my own fault.

Dog. Take heed how thou trustest the Devil another time.

Cud. How now? who's that speaks? I hope you have not your reading tongue about you?

Dog. Yes, I can speak.

Cud. The devil you can! you have read Æsop's Fables then: I have play'd one of your parts there; the dog that catch'd at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechise you a little; what might one call your name, dog?

Dog. My dame calls me Tom.

Cud. Well, Tom, give me thy fist, we are friends; you shall be mine ingle:1 I love you; but I pray you let's have no more of these ducking devices.

Dog. Not, if you love me, Dogs love where they are beloved; cherish me, and I'll do any thing for thee. I'll help thee.

Cud. Wilt thou? that promise shall cost me a brown loaf, though I steal it out of my father's cupboard: you'll eat stolen goods, Tom, will you not?

Dog. Oh, best of all! the sweetest bits those.

Ingle, mine ingle, and ninge, words frequently used by our old writers, are terms for a favourite, a familiar friend, &c.-Who can forget the ingle-nook (fireside-corner) of Burns's Cottar?

Cud. One thing I would request you, ningle, as you have play'd the knavish cur with me a little, that you would mingle among our morris-dancers in the morning. You can dance?

Dog. Yes, yes, any thing; I'll be there, but unseen to any but thyself. Get thee gone before; fear not my presence. I have work to-night; I serve more masters, more dames than one.

Cud. He can serve Mammon and the Devil too. Dog. It shall concern thee, and thy love's pur

chase.

There's a gallant rival loves the maid,

And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief, Before the morris ends, shall light on him!

Cud. Oh, sweet ningle, thy neuf once again; friends must part for a time: farewell, with this remembrance; shalt have bread too when we meet again. Farewell, Tom, I prithee dog me as soon as thou canst. [Exit. Dog. I'll not miss thee, and be merry with thee. Those that are joys denied, must take delight In sins and mischiefs; 't is the Devil's right. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The Neighbourhood of Edmonton.

Enter FRANK THORNEY, and WINNIFREDE in boy's clothes.

Frank. Prithee no more! those tears give nourish

ment

To weeds and briers in me, which shortly will
O'ergrow and top my head; my shame will sit
And cover all that can be seen of me.

Win. I have not shown this cheek in company;
Pardon me now: thus singled with yourself,
It calls a thousand sorrows round about,
Some going before, and some on either side,

But infinite behind; all chain'd together:
Your second adulterous marriage leads;

That is the sad eclipse, the effects must follow,
As plagues of shame, spite, scorn, and obloquy.
Frank. Why? hast thou not left one hour's pa-
tience

To add to all the rest? one hour bears us
Beyond the reach of all these enemies:
Are we not now set forward in the flight,
Provided with the dowry of my sin,
To keep us in some other nation?
While we together are, we are at home
In any place.

Win. "T is foul, ill-gotten coin,

Far worse than usury or extortion.
Frank. Let

My father then make the restitution,

Who forced me take the bribe: it is his gift
And patrimony to me: so I receive it.

He would not bless, nor look a father on me,
Until I satisfied his angry will:

When I was sold, I sold myself again

(Some knaves have done 't in lands, and I in body) For money, and I have the hire. But, sweet, no

more,

'Tis hazard of discovery, our discourse:

And then prevention takes off all our hopes:

For only but to take her leave of me,

My wife is coming.

Win. Who coming? your wife!

Frank. No, no; thou art here: the woman—I

knew

Not how to call her now; but after this day

She shall be quite forgot, and have no name
In my remembrance. See, see! she's come.

Enter SUSAN.

Go lead

The horses to th' hill's top; there I'll meet thee.

Sus. Nay, with your favour, let him stay a little; I would part with him too, because he is

Your sole companion; and I ’lf begin with him,
Reserving you the last.

Frank. Ay, with all my heart.

Sus. You may hear, if it please you, sir.
Frank. No, 't is not fit:

Some rudiments, I conceive, they must be,
To overlook my slippery footings: and so-
Sus. No, indeed, sir.

Frank. Tush, I know it must be so.

And it is necessary: on! but be brief.

[Walks forward.

Win. What charge soe'er you lay upon me, mis

tress,

I shall support it faithfully (being honest)

To my best strength.

Sus. Believe 't shall be no other.

I know you were commended to my husband

By a noble knight.

Win. Oh gods!-oh, mine eyes!

Sus. How now? what ail'st thou, lad?

Win. Something hit mine eye (it makes it water still),

Even as you said "commended to my husband."
Some dor I think it was.'-I was, forsooth,
Commended to him by Sir Arthur Clarington.

Sus. Whose servant once my Thorney was himself. That title, methinks, should make you almost fel⚫lows;

Or at the least much more than a mere servant;
And I am sure he will respect you so.

Your love to him then needs no spur for me,
And what for my sake you will ever do,
"T is fit it should be bought with something more

1 Some dor I think it was.] The cockchafer, or beetle. "What should I care what every dor doth buzz In credulous ears ?"-Cynthia's Revels.

GIFFORD.

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