_Boy._ Ile have none of your money, gammer, because you are a Witch; and now she is out of her foure leg'd shape, ile see if with my two legs I can out-run her. _Dickis._ Nay sirra, though you be yong, and I old, you are not so nimble, nor I so lame, but I can overtake you. _Boy._ But Gammer what do you meane to do with me Now you have me? _Dickis._ To hugge thee, stroke thee, and embrace thee thus, And teach thee twentie thousand prety things, So thou tell no tales; and boy this night Thou must along with me to a brave feast. _Boy._ Not I gammer indeed la, I dare not stay out late, My father is a fell man, and if I bee out long, will both chide and beat me. _Dickis._ Not sirra, then perforce thou shalt along, This bridle helps me still at need, And shall provide us of a steed. Now sirra, take your shape and be Prepar'd to hurrie him and me. _Exit._ Now looke and tell mee wher's the lad become. _Boy._ The boy is vanisht, and I can see nothing in his stead But a white horse readie sadled and bridled. _Dickis._ And thats the horse we must bestride, On which both thou and I must ride, Thou boy before and I behinde, The earth we tread not, but the winde, For we must progresse through the aire, And I will bring thee to such fare As thou ne're saw'st, up and away, For now no longer we can stay. _She catches him up, and turning round._ _Boy._ Help, help. _Exit._" * * * * * "_Rob._ What place is this? it looks like an old barne: ile peep in at some cranny or other, and try if I can see what they are doing. Such a bevy of beldames did I never behold; and cramming like so many Cormorants: Marry choke you with a mischiefe. _Gooddy Dickison._ Whoope, whurre, heres a sturre, Never a cat, never a curre, But that we must have this demurre. _Mal._ A second course. _Mrs. Gen._ Pull, and pull hard For all that hath lately him prepar'd For the great wedding feast. _Mall._ As chiefe Of Doughtyes Surloine of rost Beefe. _All._ Ha, ha, ha. _Meg._ 'Tis come, 'tis come. _Mawd._ Where hath it all this while beene? _Meg._ Some Delay hath kept it, now 'tis here, For bottles next of wine and beere, The Merchants cellers they shall pay for't. _Mrs. Gener._ Well, What sod or rost meat more, pray tell. _Good. Dick._ Pul for the Poultry, Foule, and Fish, For emptie shall not be a dish. _Robin._ A pox take them, must only they feed upon hot meat, and I upon nothing but cold sallads. _Mrs. Gener._ This meat is tedious, now some Farie, Fetch what belongs unto the Dairie, _Mal._ Thats Butter, Milk, Whey, Curds and Cheese, Wee nothing by the bargaine leese. _All._ Ha, ha, ha. _Goody Dickison._ Boy, theres meat for you. _Boy._ Thanke you. _Gooddy Dickis._ And drinke too. _Meg._ What Beast was by thee hither rid? _Mawd._ A Badger nab. _Meg._ And I bestrid A Porcupine that never prickt. _Mal._ The dull sides of a Beare I kickt. I know how you rid, Lady Nan. _Mrs. Gen._ Ha, ha, ha, upon the knave my man.