2 Hunt.  Are the swift Horses ready?

Clown.  Yes, and better fed than taught; for one of ’em had like to have kickt my iigumbobs as I came by him.

2 Hunt.  Where are the Dogges?

Clown.  All coupled, as Theeves going to a Sessions, and are to be hang’d if they be found faulty.

2 Hunt.  What Dogges are they?

Clown.  A packe of the bravest Spartan Dogges in the world; if they do but once open and spend[151] there gabble, gabble, gabble it will make the Forest ecchoe as if a Ring of Bells were in it; admirably flewd[152], by their eares you would take ’em to be singing boyes; and for Dewlaps they are as bigge as Vintners bags in which they straine Ipocras.

Omnes.  There, boy.

Clown.  And hunt so close and so round together that you may cover ’em all with a sheete.

2 Hunt.  If it be wide enough.

Clown.  Why, as wide as some four or five Acres, that’s all.

1 Hunt.  And what’s the game to day?

Clown.  The wilde Boare.

1 Hunt.  Which of ’em? the greatest?  I have not seene him.

Clown.  Not seene him? he is as big as an Elephant.

2 Hunt.  Now will he build a whole Castle full of lies.

Clown.  Not seen him?  I have.

Omnes.  No, no; seene him? as big as an Elephant?

Clown.  The backe of him is as broad—­let me see—­as a pretty Lighter.

1 Hun.  A Lighter?

Clown.  Yes; and what do you think the Brissells are worth?

2 Hunt.  Nothing.

Clown.  Nothing? one Shoemaker offer’d to finde me and the Heire-male of my body 22 yeeres, but to have them for his owne ends.

2 Hunt.  He would put Sparabiles[153] into the soales then?

Clown.  Not a Bill, not a Sparrow.  The Boares head is so huge that a Vintner but drawing that picture and hanging it up for a Signe it fell down and broke him.

1 Hunt.  Oh horrible!

Clown.  He has two stones so bigge, let me see (a Poxe), thy head is but a Cherry-stone to the least of’ em.

2 Hunt.  How long are his Tuskes?

Clown.  Each of them as crooked and as long as a Mowers sith.

1 Hunt.  There’s a Cutter.

Clown.  And when he whets his Tuskes you would sweare there were a sea in’s belly, and that his chops were the shore to which the Foame was beaten:  if his Foame were frothy Yest ’twere worth tenne groats a paile for Bakers.

1 Hunt.  What will the King do with him if he kill him?

Clown.  Bake him, and if they put him in one Pasty a new Oven must be made, with a mouth as wide as the gates of the City. (Horne.)

Omnes.  There boy, there boy.