_Coc._ Widow Reinscure's man; and shall please your good worship, my name's Andrew Shark. _Mul._ How does my godson, good Andrew? _Coc._ Very well, he's gone to trim Master Quicquid, our parson. Hold up your head. 20 _Mul._ How long have you been a barber, Andrew? _Coc._ Not long, sir; this two year. _Mul._ What! and a good workman already. I dare scarce trust my head to thee. _Coc._ O, fear not; we ha' poll'd better men than you; we learn the trade very quickly. Will your good worship be shaven or cut? _Mul._ As you will. What trade didst live by before thou turnedst barber, Andrew? _Coc._ I was a pedlar in Germany; but my countrymen thrive better by this trade. 31 _Mul._ What's the news, barber? thou art sometimes at court. _Coc._ Sometimes poll a page or so, sir. _Mul._ And what's the news? How do all my good lords and all my good ladies, and all the rest of my acquaintance? _Coc._ What an arrogant knave's this! I'll acquaintance ye! 'Tis cash!--[_He spieth the bag._]--Say ye, sir? _Mul._ And what news--what news, good Andrew? 40 _Coc._ Marry, sir, you know the Conduit at Greenwich, and the under-holes that spouts up water? _Mul._ Very well; I was wash'd there one day, and so was my wife--you might have wrung her smock, i'faith! But what o' those holes? _Coc._ Thus, sir. Out of those little holes, in the midst of the night, crawl'd out twenty-four huge, horrible, monstrous, fearful, devouring---- _Mul._ Bless us! 49 _Coc._ Serpents, which no sooner were beheld, but they turn'd to mastiffs, which howl'd; those mastiffs instantly turn'd to cocks, which crowed; those cocks, in a moment, were changed to bears, which roar'd; which bears are at this hour to be yet seen in Paris Garden, living upon nothing but toasted cheese and green onions. _Mul._ By the Lord! and this may be, my wife and I will go see them. This portends something. _Coc._ [_aside._] Yes, worshipful fist,[46] thou'st feel what portends by and by. 59 _Mul._ And what more news? You shave the world--especially you barber-surgeons--you know the ground of many things. You are cunning privy searchers: by the mass, you scour all. What more news? _Coc._ They say, sir, that twenty-five couple of Spanish jennets are to be seen, hand in hand, dance the old measures,[47] whilst six goodly Flaunders mares play to them on a noise[48] of flutes. _Mul._ O monstrous! this is a lie o' my word. Nay, and this be not a lie--I am no fool, I warrant--nay, make an ass of me once? 70 _Coc._ Shut your eyes close--wink; sure, sir, this ball will make you smart. _Mul._ I do wink. _Coc._ Your head will take cold;