University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

Lorel. Earine. Maudlin. Douce.
Lor.
Yee kind to others, but yee coy to mee
Deft Mistres! whiter then the cheese, new prest!
Smoother then creame! and softer then the curds!
Why start yee from mee, ere yee heare me tell
My wooing errand; and what rents I have?
Large heards, and pastures! Swine, and Kie, mine owne!
And though my na'se be camus'd, my lipps thick,
And my chin bristled! Pan, great Pan, was such!
Who was the chiefe of Heards-men, and our Sire!
I am na' Fay! na' Incubus! na' Changlin!
But a good man, that lives o' my awne geere.
This house! these grounds! this stock is all mine awne!

Ear.
How better 'twere to mee, this were not knowne!

Mau.
Shee likes it not: but it is boasted well!

Lor.
An hundred Udders for the payle I have,
That gi' mee Milke and Curds, that make mee Cheese
To cloy the Mercatts! twentie swarme of Bees,
Whilke (all the Summer) hum about the hive,
And bring mee Waxe, and Honey in by live.
An aged Oake the King of all the field,
With a broad Beech there growes afore my dur,
That mickell Mast unto the ferme doth yeild.
A Chestnut, whilk hath larded money a Swine,
Whose skins I weare, to fend me fra the Cold.
A Poplar greene, and with a kerved Seat,
Under whose shade I solace in the heat;
And thence can see gang out, and in, my neat.
Twa trill and brookes, each (from his spring) doth meet,
And make a river, to refresh my feet:
In which, each morning ere the Sun doth rise,
I look my selfe, and cleare my pleasant eyes,
Before I pipe; For, therein I have skill
'Bove other Swine'ards. Bid mee, and I will
Straight play to you, and make you melodie.

Ear.
By no meanes. Ah! to me all minstrelsie
Is irksome, as are you.

Lor.
Why scorne you mee?
He drawes out other presents.
Because I am a Heards-man, and feed Swine!
I am a Lord of other geere! this fine
Smooth Bawsons Cub, the young Grice of a Gray;
Twa tynie Urshins, and this Ferret gay.

Ear.
Out on 'hem! what are these?

Lor.
I give 'hem yee;
As presents Mrs.

Ear.
O the feind, and thee!
Gar take them hence: they few mand all the claithes,
And prick my Coates: hence with 'hem, limmer lowne,
Thy vermin, and thy selfe, thy selfe art one;
I lock me up. All's well when thou art gone.