Enter WILLIAM CRICKET.

WILL CRICKET.  What a talking is here of noses?  Come, Peg, we are toward marriage; let us talk of that may do us good.  Granam, what will you give us toward housekeeping?

MOTHER MIDNIGHT. 
Why, William, we are talking of Robin Goodfellow.  What think you of him?

WILL CRICKET.  Marry, I say, he looks like a tankard-bearer that dwells in Petticoat Lane at the sign of the Mermaid; and I swear by the blood of my codpiece, and I were a woman, I would lug off his lave[160] ears, or run him to death with a spit.  And, for his face, I think ’tis pity there is not a law made, that it should be felony to name it in any other places than in bawdy-houses.  But, Granam, what will you give us?

MOTHER MIDNIGHT.  Marry, I will give Peg a pot and a pan, two platters, a dish and a spoon, a dog and a cat.  I trow, she’ll prove a good huswife, and love her husband well too.

WILL CRICKET.  If she love me, I’ll love her.  I’ faith, my sweet honeycomb, I’ll love thee A per se A.  We must be asked in church next Sunday; and we’ll be married presently.

PEG. 
I’ faith, William, we’ll have a merry day on’t.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT. 
That we will, i’ faith, Peg; we’ll have a whole noise of fiddlers there. 
Come, Peg, let’s hie us home; we’ll make a bag-pudding to supper, and
William shall go and sup with us.

WILL CRICKET. 
Come on, i’ faith.
                      [Exeunt.

Enter FORTUNATUS and SOPHOS.

FORTUNATUS. 
Why, how now, Sophos? all amort? still languishing in love? 
Will not the presence of thy friend prevail,
Nor hope expel these sullen fits? 
Cannot mirth wring if but a forged smile
From those sad drooping looks of thine? 
Rely on hope, whose hap will lead thee right
To her, whom thou dost call thy heart’s delight: 
Look cheerly, man; the time is near at hand,
That Hymen, mounted on a snow-white coach,
Shall tend on Sophos and his lovely bride.

SOPHOS. 
’Tis impossible:  her father, man, her father—­
He’s all for Peter Plod-all.

FORTUNATUS. 
Should I but see that Plod-all offer love,
This sword should pierce the peasant’s breast,
And chase his soul from his accursed corpse
By an unwonted way unto the grisly lake. 
But now th’appointed time is near,
That Churms should come with his supposed love: 
Then sit we down under these leafy shades,
And wait the time of Lelia’s wish’d approach.

[They sit down.

SOPHOS. 
Ay, here I’ll wait for Lelia’s wish’d approach;
More wish’d to me than is a calm at sea[161]
To shipwreck’d souls, when great god Neptune frowns. 
Though sad despair hath almost drown’d my hopes,
Yet would I pass the burning vaults of Ork[162],
As erst did Hercules to fetch his love,
If I might meet my love upon the strond,
And but enjoy her love one minute of an hour.