_Mop_. Terlitelo,[110] Terlitelo, tertitelee, terlo. So merrily this sheapheards Boy His home that he can blow, Early in a morning, late, late in an euening; And euer sat this little Boy So merrily piping. _Enter at the other doore Frisco singing_. _Fris_. Can you blow the little home? Weell, weell and very weell; And can you blow the little home Amongst the leaues greene? _Enter Ioculo in the midst singing_. _Io_. Fortune,[111] my foe, why doest thou frowne on mee? And will my fortune neuer better bee? Wilt thou, I say, for euer breed my paine, And wilt thou not restore my Ioyes againe? _Frisco_. Cannot a man be merry in his owne walke But a must be thus encombred? _Io_. I am disposed to be melancholly, And I cannot be priuate for one villaine or other. _Mop_. How the deuel stumbled this case of rope-ripes[112] into my way? _Fris_. Sirrha what art thou? and thou? _Io_. I am a page to a Courtier. _Mop_. And I a Boy to a Shepheard. _Fris_. Thou art the Apple-Squier[113] to an Eawe, And thou sworne brother to a bale[114] of false dice. _Io_. What art thou? _Fris_. I am Boy to a Raunger. _Io_. An Out-lawe by authoritie, one that neuer sets marke of his own goods nor neuer knowes how he comes by other mens. _Mop_. That neuer knowes his cattell but by their hornes. _Fris_. Sirrha, so you might haue said of your maister sheep. _Io_. I, marry, this takes fier like touch powder, and goes off with a huffe. _Fris_. They come of crick-cracks, and shake their tayles like a squib. _Io_. Ha, you Rogues, the very steele of my wit shall strike fier from the flint of your vnderstandings; haue you not heard of me? _Mop_. Yes, if you be the _Ioculo_ that I take you for, we haue heard of your exployts for cosoning of some seuen and thirtie Alewiues in the Villages here about. _Io_. A wit as nimble as a Sempsters needle or a girles finger at her Buske poynt. _Mop_. Your iest goes too low, sir. _Fris_. O but tis a tickling iest. _Io_. Who wold haue thought to haue found this in a plaine villaine that neuer woare better garment than a greene Ierkin? _Fris_. O Sir, though you Courtiers haue all the honour you haue not all the wit. _Mop_. Soft sir, tis not your witte can carry it away in this company. _Io_. Sweet Rogues, your companie to me is like musick to a wench at midnight when she lies alone and could wish,--yea, marry could she. _Fris_. And thou art as welcome to me as a new poking stick to a Chamber mayd. _Mop_. But, soft; who comes here? _Enter the Faieries, singing and dauncing_. By the moone we sport and play, With the night begins our day; As we daunce, the deaw doth fall; Trip it little vrchins all, Lightly as the little Bee, Two by two and three by three: And about go wee, and about go wee.[115] _Io_. What Mawmets[116] are these? _Fris_. O they be the Fayries that haunt these woods.