[A female Beggar rises up, rubbing her eyes as if in sleep—­a Child in her arms.]

BEGGAR O Gentlemen, I thank you;
              I’ve had the saddest dream that ever troubled
              The heart of living creature.—­My poor Babe
              Was crying, as I thought, crying for bread
              When I had none to give him; whereupon,
              I put a slip of foxglove in his hand,
              Which pleased him so, that he was hushed at once: 
              When, into one of those same spotted bells
              A bee came darting, which the Child with joy
              Imprisoned there, and held it to his ear,
              And suddenly grew black, as he would die.

MARMADUKE We have no time for this, my babbling Gossip;
              Here’s what will comfort you.
       [Gives her money.]

BEGGAR The Saints reward you
              For this good deed!—­Well, Sirs, this passed away;
              And afterwards I fancied, a strange dog,
              Trotting alone along the beaten road,
              Came to my child as by my side he slept
              And, fondling, licked his face, then on a sudden
              Snapped fierce to make a morsel of his head: 
              But here he is,
     [kissing the Child]
                             it must have been a dream.

OSWALD When next inclined to sleep, take my advice,
              And put your head, good Woman, under cover.

BEGGAR Oh, Sir, you would not talk thus, if you knew
              What life is this of ours, how sleep will master
              The weary-worn.—­You gentlefolk have got
              Warm chambers to your wish.  I’d rather be
              A stone than what I am.—­But two nights gone,
              The darkness overtook me—­wind and rain
              Beat hard upon my head—­and yet I saw
              A glow-worm, through the covert of the furze,
              Shine calmly as if nothing ailed the sky: 
              At which I half accused the God in Heaven.—­
              You must forgive me.

OSWALD Ay, and if you think
              The Fairies are to blame, and you should chide
              Your favourite saint—­no matter—­this good day
              Has made amends.

BEGGAR Thanks to you both; but, Oh Sir! 
              How would you like to travel on whole hours
              As I have done, my eyes upon the ground,
              Expecting still, I knew not how, to find
              A piece of money glittering through the dust.

MARMADUKE This woman is a prater.  Pray, good Lady! 
              Do you tell fortunes?