Alb.  Aye me, what Demon was it guide me thus?  This is Melpomene, that Scottish witch[62], Whom I will scratche like to some villanous gibb, And—­

Doct.  O Garzowne, la diabole, la pestilence, gars blur!

Alp.  Lay holde upon him, helpe the Doctor there!

Alb.  Then reason’s fled to animals, I see, And I will vanish like Tobaccho smoake. Exit.

Doct.  A grand pestilence a dis furie

Alp.  Follow him, sirs, Leander, good Leander!  But, Doctor, canst thou tell us the true cause Of this suddaine frenzie?

Doct.  O by garr, pleaze your grace heare de long tale [or] de short tale?

Alp.  Briefe as you can, good Doctor.

Doct.  Faite and trot, briefe den, very briefe, very laccingue.  De Prince, your sonne, feast with de knave Jeweller, Flores, and he for make a Prince love a de foule croope-shouldra daughter Cornelia, give a de prince a de love poudra which my selfe give for the wenche a before, and make him starke madde be garr because he drinke a too much a.

Alp.  How know you this?

Doct.  Experience teach her, by garr; de poudra have grand force for inflama de bloud, too much make a de rage and de present furie:  be garr, I feare de mad man as de devilla, garr blesse a.

    Enter Hardenbergh.

Alp.  How now, sweete Hardenbergh?

Har.  The Prince, my Lord, in going downe the staires
Hath forst an Axe[63] from one of the Trevants (?),
And with it (as he runnes) makes such cleare way
As no man dare oppose him to his furie.

Alp.  Aye me, what may I do? heere are such newes
As never could have entred our free ears
But that their sharpnesse do enforce a passage. 
Follow us, Doctor; ’tis Flores treacherie
That thus hath wrought my sonnes distemperature.

Exit [Alph.

Hard. Flores, the Jeweller?

Doct.  I, he, dat fine precious stone knave:  by garr, I tinke I shall hit upon hir skirt till be thred bare new.

Exit [Doct with Hard.

[SCENE 3.]

    Musicke playing within.  Enter a Peasant.

Pes.  ’Tis night, and good faith I am out of my way.  O harke; What brave musick is this under the green hill?

    Enter Fairies bringing in a banquet.

O daintie, O rare, a banquet! would to Christ
I were one of their guests.  Gods ad, a fine little
Dapper fellow has spyed me:  What will he doo? 
He comes to make me drinke:  I thanke you, Sir. 
Some of your victuals, I pray; Sir; nay now keepe
your meate, I have enough I; the cup, I faith.
          
                                        Exit.

    Enter the spirit with banquetting stuffe, and missing
    the pesant, lookes up and downe for him; the rest
    wondering at him; to them enters the Enchanter.