MAR. How, Master Heigham, my groot frinde? Out, alas! here's one of the strangers. LAUR. Peace, you mammet! let's see which it is. We may chance teach him a strange trick for his learning. Master Heigham, what wind drives you to our house so late? VAN. O my lief meskin, de love tol you be so groot, dat it bring me out my bed voor you. MATH. Ha, ha! we know the ass by his ears: it is the Dutchman. What shall we do with him? LAUR. Peace! let him not know that you are here. Master Heigham, if you will stay awhile, that I may see if my father be asleep, and I'll make means we may come together. VAN. Dat sal ic, my loove. Is dit no well counterfet? I speak so like Mester Heigham, as 'tis possible. LAUR. Well, what shall we do with this lubber--Lover, I should say? MATH. What shall we do with him? Why, crown him with a---- MAR. Fie, slut! No, we'll use him cleanlier. You know we have never a sign at the door: would not the jest prove current to make the Dutchman supply that want. LAUR. Nay, the fool will cry out, and so wake my father. MATH. Why, then we'll cut the rope and cast him down. LAUR. And so jest out a hanging. Let's rather draw him up in the basket, and so starve him to death this frosty night. MAR. In sadness, well-advised. Sister, do you hold him in talk, and we'll provide it the whilst. LAUR. Go to, then. Master Heigham, O sweet Master Heigham! Doth my father think that his unkindness Can part you and poor Laurentia? No, no, I have found a drift to bring you to my chamber, If you have but the heart to venture it. VAN. Ventre? sal ic go to de sea, and be de sea, and o'er de sea, and in de sea, voor my sweet love. LAUR. Then you dare go into a basket? for I know no other means to enjoy your company than so, for my father hath the keys of the door. VAN. Sal ic climb up tot you? sal ic fly up tot you? sal ic? what sedgy? MATH. Bid him do it, sister; we shall see his cunning. LAUR. O, no; so you[530] may catch a fall. There, Master Heigham, put yourself into that basket, and I will draw you up. But no words, I pray you, for fear my sisters hear you. VAN. No, no, no word. O de sout wench! Ic come, ic come! LAUR. Are you ready, Master Heigham? VAN. Ya ic, my sout lady. MAR. Merrily then, my wenches. LAUR. How heavy the ass is! Master Heigham, is there any in the basket but yourself? VAN. Neit, neit; dare be no man. LAUR. Are you up, sir? VAN. Neit, neit. MAR. Nor never are you like to climb more higher. Sisters, the woodcock's caught, the fool is cag'd! VAN. My sout lady, I be noc neit up; pull me tot you.