LELIA. And I as constant as Penelope. SOPHOS. Then let us solace, and in love's delight And sweet embracings spend the livelong night; And whilst love mounts her on her wanton wings, Let descant run on music's silver strings. [_Exeunt_. A SONG. 1. _Old Triton must forsake his dear, The lark doth chant her cheerful lay; Aurora smiles with merry cheer, To welcome in a happy day_. 2. _The beasts do skip, The sweet birds sing; The wood-nymphs dance, The echoes ring_. 3. _The hollow caves with joy resounds, And pleasure ev'rywhere abounds; The Graces, linking hand in hand, In love have knit a glorious band_. _Enter_ ROBIN GOODFELLOW, _old_ PLOD-ALL, _and his son_ PETER. PLOD-ALL. Hear you, Master Goodfellow, how have you sped? PETER PLOD-ALL. Ha' you played the devil bravely, and feared the scholar out on's wits? ROBIN GOODFELLOW. A pox of the scholar! PLOD-ALL. Nay, hark you: I sent you vorty shillings, and you shall have the cheese I promised you too. ROBIN GOODFELLOW. A plague of the vorty shillings, and the cheese too! PETER PLOD-ALL. Hear you, will you give me the powder you told me of? ROBIN GOODFELLOW. How you vex me! Powder, quotha? zounds, I have been powdered. PLOD-ALL. Son, I doubt he will prove a crafty knave, and cosen us of our money. We'll go to Master Justice, and complain on him, and get him whipped out o' the country for a coneycatcher. PETER PLOD-ALL. Ay, or have his ears nailed to the pillory. Come, let's go. [_Exeunt_ PLOD-ALL _and his son_. _Enter_ CHURMS. CHURMS. Fellow Robin, what news? how goes the world? ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Faith, the world goes, I cannot tell how. How sped you with your wench? CHURMS. I would the wench were at the devil! A plague upon't, I never say my prayers; and that makes me have such ill-luck. ROBIN GOODFELLOW. I think the scholar be hunted with some demi-devil. CHURMS. Why, didst thou fray him? ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Fray him? a vengeance on't! all our shifting knavery's known; we are counted very vagrants. Zounds, I am afraid of every officer for whipping. CHURMS. We are horribly haunted: our behaviour is so beastly, that we are grown loathsome; our craft gets us nought but knocks. ROBIN GOODFELLOW. What course shall we take now? CHURMS. Faith, I cannot tell: let's e'en run our country; for here's no staying for us. ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Faith, agreed: let's go into some place where we are not known, and there set up the art of knavery with the second edition. [_Exeunt_. _Enter_ GRIPE _solus_.