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Cud. I'll have a witch; I love a witch.
1 Cl. 'Faith, witches themselves are so common" now-a-days, that the counterfeit will not be regarded. They say we have three or four in Edmonton, besides mother Sawyer.
2 Cl. I would she would dance her part with us.
3 Cl. So would not I; for if she comes, the Devil and all comes along with her.
Cud. Well, I'll have a witch ; I have loved a witch ever since I played at cherry-pit.? Leave me, and get my horse dress'd; give him oats; but water him not till I come. Whither do we foot it first?
2 Cl. To Sir Arthur Clarington's first; then whither thou wilt.
Cud. Well, I am content; but we must up to Carter's, the rich yeoman; I must be seen on hobbyhorse there.
1 Cl. Oh, I smell him now !-I 'll lay my ears Banks is in love, and that 's the reason he would walk melancholy by himself.
Cud. Ha ! who was that said I was in love? 1 Cl. Not I. 2 Ci. Nor I. Cud. Go to, no more of that ; when I understand what you speak, I know what you say; believe that.
1 C. Well, 't was I, I'll not deny it; I meant no hurt in't; I have seen you walk up to Carter's of Chessum: Banks, were not you there last Shrove tide ?
Cud. Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrove-tide.
2 Cl. How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week ?
Cud. Prithee peace! I reckon stila nova, as a traveller ; thou understandest as a fresh-water far
1 See note, p. 204 2 A puerile game, which consisted of pitching cherry-stones into a small hole, as is still practised with leaden counters called dumps, or with money.--Nares's Glossary.
mer, that never saw'st a week beyond sea. Ask any soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he 'll tell thee there are eight' days. in the week there, hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places?
3 Cl. Ay, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet.
Cud. No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee look but in the lover's almanae; when he has been but three days absent, “ Oh,” says he, “ I have not seen my love these seven years:" there's a long cut! When he comes to her again and embraces her, “Oh,” says he, “now methinks I am in heaven;" and that's a pretty step! he that can get up to heaven in ten days, need not repent his journey ; you may ride a hundred days in a caroch, and be farther off than when you set forth. But I pray you, good morrismates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.
i Cl. Well, since he will be alone, we 'll back again, and trouble him no more. All. But remember, Banks. Cud. The hobby-horse shall be remembered.
[Exeunt all but Cuddy. Well, now to my walk. I am near the place where I should meet-I know not what: say I meet a thief? I must follow him, if to the gallows; say I 'meet a horse, or hare, or hound? still I must follow: some slow-paced beast, I hope; yet love is full of lightness in the heaviest lovers. Ha! my guide is come.
Enter Dog. A water-dog! I am thy first man, sculler; I go with thee; ply no other but myself. Away with the boat! » Ask any soldier, &c.] Thus Butler :
The soldier does it every day,
land me but at Katherine's dock, my sweet Kathe-
&c., and appears in the shape of KATHERINE.
[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.
[Exit, following the Spirit.
[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 dog. trick? 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: 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? thạt 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. I Ingle, mine ingle, and ningle, 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.
X 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.
The Neighbourhood of Edmonton. Enter FRANK THORNEY, and WINNIFREDE in boy's
clothes, Frank. Prithee no more! those tears give nourish
Win. I have not shown this cheek in company;