Bo. But see, see, see, there is a Serpent in it; It has eyes as broad as Platters; it spits fire; Now it creeps towards us, help me to say my Prayers:  It hath swallowed me almost, my breath is stopt; I cannot speak:  do I speak Mistress? tell me.

Ger. Why, thou strange timerous Sot, canst thou perceive Any thing i’th’ Bush but a poor Glo-worm?

Bo. It may be ’tis but a Glo-worm now, but ’twill Grow to a Fire-drake presently.

Ger. Come thou from it:  I have a precious guide of you, and a courteous, That gives me leave to lead my self the way thus.

Bo. It thunders, you hear that now?

Ger. I hear one hollow.

Bo. ’Tis thunder, thunder: 
See, a Flash of Lightning: 
Are you not blasted Mistress? pull your Mask off,
It has plaid the Barber with me here:  I have lost
My Beard, my Beard, pray God you be not shaven,
’Twill spoil your Marriage Mistress.

Ger. What strange Wonders Fear fancies in a Coward!

Bo. Now the Earth opens.

Ger. Prithee hold thy peace.

Bo. Will you on then?

Ger. Both love and jealousie have made me bold, Where my Fate leads me, I must go. [Exit.

Bo. God be with you then.

Enter Woolfort, Hemskirk, and Attendants.

Hem. It was the Fellow sure, he that should guide me, The Hunts-man that did hollow us.

Woolf. Best make a stand, And listen to his next:  Ha!

Hem. Who goes there?

Bo. Mistress, I am taken.

Hem. Mistress?  Look forth Souldiers.

Woolf. What are you Sirrah?

Bo. Truly all is left
Of a poor Boor, by day-light, by night no body,
You might have spar’d your Drum, and Guns, and Pikes too
For I am none that will stand out Sir, I.
You may take me in with a walking Stick,
Even when you please, and hold me with a packthred.

Hem. What woman was’t you call’d to?

Bo. Woman! none Sir.

Woolf. None! did you not name Mistress?

Bo. Yes, but she’s
No woman yet:  she should have been this night,
But that a Beggar stole away her Bridegroom,
Whom we were going to make hue and cry after;
I tell you true Sir, she should ha’ been married to day;
And was the Bride and all; but in came Clause,
The old lame Beggar, and whips up Mr Goswin
Under his arm; away with him as a Kite,
Or an old Fox would swoop away a Gosling.

Hem. ’Tis she, ’tis she, ’tis she:  Niece?

Ger. Ha!

Hem. She Sir,
This was a noble entrance to your fortune,
That being on the point thus to be married,
Upon her venture here, you should surprise her.

Woolf. I begin, Hemskirk, to believe my fate, Works to my ends.