_Old Mer._ Your Daughter, what a-stirs here wi' y'r daughter? Let her go, think no more on her, but sing loud. If both my sons were on the gallows, I would sing _down, down, down_: they fall down, and arise they never shall. _Merch._ Oh might I behold her once again, And she once more embrace her aged sire. _Old Mer._ Fie, how scurvily this goes: and she once more embrace her aged sire? you'll make a dog on her, will ye; she cares much for her aged sire, I warrant you. She cares not for her Daddy, nor she cares not for her Mammy. For she is, she is, she is[, she is] my Lord of _Low-gaves_ Lassie. _Merch._ For this thy scorn I will pursue That son of thine to death. _Old Mer._ Do, and when you ha kill'd him, Give him flowers i'now Palmer, give him flowers i'now, Give him red and white, and blue, green, and yellow. _Merch._ I'll fetch my Daughter. _Old Mer._ I'll hear no more o' your Daughter, it spoils my mirth. _Merch._ I say I'll fetch my Daughter. _Old Mer._ Was never man for Ladies sake, _down, down_, Tormented as I [poore] Sir _Guy_? _de derry down_, For _Lucies_ sake, that Lady bright, _down, down_, As ever men beheld with eye? _de derry down_. _Merch._ I'll be reveng'd by heaven. [_Exeunt._ Finis _Act. Secund._ _Musick._ _Wife._ How dost thou like this _George_? _Cit._ Why this is well Cunnie: but if _Ralph_ were hot once: thou shouldst see more. _Wife._ The Fidlers go again Husband. _Cit._ I _Nell_, but this is scurvy Musick: I gave the whoreson gallows money, and I think he has not got me the Waits of _Southwark_, if I hear him not anan, I'll twinge him by the ears. [You] Musicians play _Baloo_. _Wife._ No good _George_, let's ha _Lachrymæ_. _Cit._ Why this is it Cunny. _Wife._ It's all the better _George_: now sweet Lamb, what story is that painted upon the cloth? the confutation of Saint Paul? _Cit._ No Lamb, that's _Ralph_ and _Lucrece_. _Wife. Ralph_ and _Lucrece_? which _Ralph_? our _Ralph_? _Cit._ No Mouse, that was a _Tartarian_. _Wife._ A _Tartarian_? well, I wo'd the Fidlers had done, that we might see our _Ralph_ again. _Actus Tertius. Scæna Prima._ _Enter_ Jasper _and_ Luce. _Jasp._ Come my [deere deere], though we have lost our way, We have not lost our selves: are you not weary With this nights wandring, broken from your rest? And frighted with the terror that attends The darkness of this wild unpeopled place?