 | The Sad Shepherd :or, A Tale of Robin-Hood |  |
Act. II.
The Argument of the second Act.
The Witch Maudlin, having taken the shape of Marian to abuse Robin-hood, and perplexe his guests, commeth forth with her daughter Douce, reporting in what confusion shee hath left them; defrauded them, of their Venison; made them suspitious each of the other; but most of all Robin-hood so jealous of his Marian, as shee hopes no effect of love would ever reconcile them; glorying so farre in the extent of her mischiefe, as shee confesseth to have surpriz'd Earine, strip'd her of her garments, to make her daughter appeare fine, at this feast, in them; and to have shut the maiden up in a tree, as her sonnes prize, if he could winne her; or his prey, if he would force her. Her Sonne a rude bragging swine'ard, comes to the tree to woo her (his Mother, and Sister stepping aside, to over-heare him) and first boasts his wealth to her, and his possessions; which move not. Then he presents her guifts, such as himselfe is taken with, but shee utterly showes a scorne, and loathing both of him, and them. His mother is angry, rates him, instructs him what to doe the next time, and persuades her daughter, to show her selfe about the bower: tells, how shee shall know her mother, when she is transformed, by her broidered belt. Meane while the yong sheep'ardes Amy being kist by Karolin, Earines brother, before, falls in Love; but knowes not what Love is: but describes her disease so innocently, that Marian pitties her. When Robin-hood, and the rest of his Guests invited, enter to Marian, upbraiding her with sending away their Venison to Mother Maudlin by Scathlock, which shee denies; Scatchlock affirmes it, but seeing his Mistres weep, & to forsweare it, begins to doubt his owne understanding, rather then affront her farder; which
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Scene. I.
Maudlin. Douce.Mau.
Have I not left 'em in a brave confusion?
Amaz'd their expectation? got their Venison?
Troubled their mirth, and meeting? made them doubtfull,
And jealous of each other? all distracted?
And, i' the close, uncertaine of themselves?
This can your Mother doe my daintie Douce!
Take anie shape upon her! and delude
The senses, best acquainted with their Owners!
The jolly Robin, who 'hath bid this feast,
And made this solemne invitation;
I ha' possessed so, with syke dislikes
Of his owne Marian, that all-bee 'he know her,
As doth the vauting hart, his venting hind,
Hee nêre fra' hence, sall neis her i' the wind,
To his first liking.
Dou.
Did you so distate him?
Mau.
As farre as her proud scorning him, could 'bate
Or blunt the edge of any Lovers temper.
Dou.
But were yee like her mother?
Mau.
So like Douce,
As had shee seen me her sel', her sel' had doubted
Whether had been the liker off the twâ!
This can your Mother doe, I tell you Daughter!
I ha' but dight yee, yet; i' the out-dresse;
And 'parraile of Earine! but this raiment,
These very weeds, fall make yee, as but comming
In view or ken of Aeglamour, your forme
Shall show too slipperie to be look'd upon!
And all the Forrest sweare you to be shee!
They shall rin after yee, and wage the odds,
Upo' their owne deceived sights, yee' are her!
Whilst shee (poore Lasse) is stock'd up in a tree:
Your brother Lorells prize! For so my largesse,
Hath lotted her, to be your brothers Mistresse;
Gif shee can be reclaim'd: gif not, his Prey!
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Of Swine'ards! sike he seemes! dight i'the spoiles
Of those he feedes! A mightie Lord of Swine!
He is command now, to woo. Lets step aside,
And heare his love-craft! See, he opes the dore!
And takes her by the hand, and helpes her forth!
This is true court-ship, and becomes his ray.
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
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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.
Scene III.
Lorel. Maudlin. Douce.Lor.
Did you heare this? shee wish'd mee at the feind,
With all my presents!
Mau.
A tu luckie end
Shee wishend thee, fowle Limmer! drittie Lowne!
Gud faith, it duills mee that I am thy Mother!
And see, thy Sister scornes thee, for her Brother!
Thou woo thy Love? thy Mistresse? with twa Hedge-hoggs?
A stink and brock? a polcat? out thou houlet!
Thou shoul'dst ha' given her, a Madge-Owle! and then
Tho' hadst made a present o' thy selfe, Owle-spiegle!
Dou.
Why, Mother, I have heard yee bid to give;
And often, as the Cause calls.
Mau.
I know well,
It is a wittie part, sum-times, to give.
But what? to whame? no monsters! nor to maidens!
Hee suld present them with mare pleasand things,
Things naturall, and what all woemen covet
To see: the common Parent of us all!
Which Maids will twire at, 'tween their fingers, thus!
With which his Sire gat him! Hee's gett another!
And so beget posteritie upon her!
This he should do! (false Gelden) gang thy gait
And du thy turnes, betimes: or, I'is gar take
Thy new breikes fra' thee, and thy duiblet tu.
The Talleur, and the Sowter fall undu'
All they ha' made; except thou manlier woo!
Lorell goes out.
Dou.
Gud Mother, gif yow chide him, hee'll du wairs.
Mau.
Hang him: I geif him to the Devills eirs.
But, yee my Douce, I charge yee, shew your sell,
Tu all the Sheep'ards, baudly: gaing amang 'hem.
Be mickell i' their eye, frequent, and fugeand.
And, gif they aske yee of Earine,
Or of these claithes; say, that I ga' hem yee,
And say no more. I ha' that wark in hand,
That web upo' the Luime, fall gar 'hem thinke
By then, they feelin their owne frights, and feares,
I'is pu' the world, or Nature, 'bout their eares.
But, heare yee Douce, bycause, yee may meet mee
In mony shapes tu day; where ere you spie
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A Gypsan Ladie, and a right Beldame,
Wrought it by Moone-shine for mee, and Star-light,
Upo' your Granams grave, that verie night
Wee earth'd her, in the shades; when our Dame Hecat,
Made it her gaing-night, over the Kirk-yard,
Withall the barke and parish tykes set at her,
While I sate whyrland, of my brasen spindle:
At every twisted thrid my rock let flie
Unto the sew'ster, who did sit me nigh,
Under the towne-turne-pike; which ran each spell
She stitched in the worke, and knit it well.
See, yee take tent to this, and ken 'your Mother.
Scene IV.
Marian. Mellifleur. Amie.Mar.
How do you sweet Amie? yet?
Mel.
Shee cannot tell,
If shee could sleepe, shee saies, shee should do well.
Shee feeles a hurt, but where, shee cannot show
Any least signe, that shee is hurt or no.
Her paine's not doubtfull to her; but the seat
Of her paine is. Her thoughts too work, and beat,
Opprest with Cares: but why, shee cannot say.
All matter of her care is quite away.
Mar.
Hath any Vermin broke into your Fold?
Or any rott seiz'd on your flock? or cold?
Or hath your feighting Ram, burst his hard horne?
Or any Ewe her fleece? or bag hath torne,
My gentle Amie?
Am.
Marian, none of these.
Mar.
Ha' you been stung by Waspes, or angry Bees?
Or raz'd with some rude bramble, or rough briar?
Am.
No Marian; my disease is somewhat nigher.
I weep, and boile away my Selfe, in teares;
And then my panting heart would dry those feares:
I burne, though all the Forrest lend a shade;
And freize, though the whole Wood one fire were made.
Mar.
Alas!
Am.
I often have been torne with thorne and briar;
Both in the Leg, and Foot, and somewhat higher:
Yet gave not then such fearfull shreikes as these. Ah!
I often have been stung too, with curst Bees,
Yet no remember that I then did quit
Either my Companie, or Mirth for it. Ah!
And therefore, what it is that I feele now,
And know no cause of it, nor where, nor how,
It entred in mee, nor least print can see,
I feele afflicts mee more, then Briar, or Bee. Oh!
How often, when the Sun heavens brightest birth
Hath with his burning fervour cleft the earth,
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A coole cleare fountaine, could I sleeping lie
Safe from the heate? but now, no shadie tree,
Nor purling brook, can my refreshing bee?
Oft when the medowes, were growne rough with frost,
The rivers ice-bound, and their currents lost,
My thick warme fleece I wore, was my defence
Or large good fires, I made, drave winter thence.
But now, my whole flocks fells, nor this thick grove,
Enflam'd to ashes, can my cold remove.
It is a cold, and heat, that doth out goe
All sense of Winters, and of Summers so.
Scene V.
Robin-hood. Clarion. Lionel. Alken.Rob.
O', are you here, my Mistresse?
Mar.
I my Love!
Shee seing him, runs to imbrace him. He puts her back.
Where should I be, but in my Robins armes?
The Sphere which I delight in, so to move?
Rob.
What the rude Ranger? and spied Spie? hand off:
You are for no such rusticks.
Mar.
What meanes this,
Thrice worthy Clarion? or wise Alken? know yee?
Rob.
'Las no, not they! a poore sterv'd Muttons carkasse
Would better fit their palat's, then your Venison.
Mar.
What riddle is this! unfold your selfe, deare Robin.
Rob.
You ha' not sent your Venison hence by Scathlock,
To Mother Maudlin?
Mar.
I to Mother Maudlin?
Will Scathlock say so?
Rob.
Nay, wee will all sweare so.
For all did heare it, when you gave the charge so.
Both Clarion, Alken, Lionel, my selfe.
Mar.
Good honest Shep'ards, Masters of your flocks,
Simple, and vertuous men, no others hirelings;
Be not you made to speake against your Conscience,
That which may soile the truth. I send the Venison
Away? by Scathlock? and to mother Maudlin?
I came to shew it here, to Mellifleur,
I doe confesse; but Amies falling ill,
Did put us of it: Since wee imploied our selves
Scathlock, enters.
In comforting of her. O', here he is!
Did I, Sir, bid you beare away the Venison,
To mother Maudlin?
Sca.
I gud faith, Madam,
Did you, and I ha' done it.
Mar.
What ha' you done?
Sca.
Obey'd your hests, Madam; done your Commaunds.
Mar.
Done my Commaunds, dull groome? Fetch it againe
Or kennel with the hounds. Are these the Arts
Robin, you read your rude ones o' the wood,
To countenance your quarrells, and mistakings?
Or are the sports to entertaine your friends
Those formed jealousies? Aske of Mellifleur,
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Since I came in with them; or saw this Scathlock,
Since I related to you his tale, o' the Raven?
Scathlock goes out.
Sca.
I, say you so?
Mel.
Shee never left my side
Since I came in, here, nor I hers.
Cla.
This 's strange!
Our best of Senses were deceiv'd, our eyes, then!
Lio.
And eares too.
Mar.
What you have concluded on,
Make good I pray you.
Am.
O' my heart, my heart!
Mar.
My heart it is, is wounded prettie Amie;
Report not you your greifes: I'll tell for all.
Mel.
Some body is to blame, there is a fault.
Mar.
Try if you can take rest. A little slumber
Will much refresh you (Amie).
Alk.
What's her greif?
Mar.
Shee does not know: and therein shee is happie.
Scene VI.
To themJohn, Maudlin, and Scathlock after.
Joh.
Here's Mother Maudlin come to give you thanks,
Madam, for some late guift, shee hath receiv'd—
Which shee's not worthie of, shee saies, but crakes,
And wonders of it; hoppes about the house;
Transported with the joy.
Shee daunceth.
Mau.
Send mee a Stagge!
A whole Stagge, Madam! and so fat a Deere!
So fairelie hunted, and at such a time too!
When all your freinds were here!
Rob.
Do you mark this, Clarion?
Her owne acknowledgement?
Mau.
'Twas such a bountie
And honour done to your poore Bedes-woman,
I know not how to owe it, but to thanke you.
And that I come to du: I shall goe round,
And giddie with the toy of the good turne.
Shee turnes round, till shee falls.And honour done to your poore Bedes-woman,
I know not how to owe it, but to thanke you.
And that I come to du: I shall goe round,
And giddie with the toy of the good turne.
Looke out, looke out, gay folke about,
And see mee spin; the ring I' am in
Of mirth, & glee, with thanks for fee
The heart putts on, for th'Venison
My Lady sent, which shall be spent
In draughts of Wine, to fume up fine
Into the braine, and downe againe
Fall in a Swoune, and upo' the growne.
And see mee spin; the ring I' am in
Of mirth, & glee, with thanks for fee
The heart putts on, for th'Venison
My Lady sent, which shall be spent
In draughts of Wine, to fume up fine
Into the braine, and downe againe
Fall in a Swoune, and upo' the growne.
Rob.
Look to her, shee is mad.
Mau.
My Son hath sent you
A pott of Strawberries, gather'd i' the wood
(His Hoggs would els have rooted up, or trod)
With a choice dish of wildings here, to scald
And mingle with your Creame.
Mar.
Thank you good Maudlin,
And thanke your Sonne. Go, beare 'hem in to Much
Th'Acater, let him thanke her. Surelie, Mother
You were mistaken, or my Woodmen more,
Or most my selfe, to send you all our store
Of Venison, hunted for our selves, this day!
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If wee'lld intreat you; when you know our ghests:
Red Deere is head still of the forrest feasts.
Mau.
But I knaw yee, a right free-hearted Ladie,
Can spare it out of superfluitie:
I have departit it 'mong my poore Neighbours
To speake your Largesse.
Mar.
I not gave it, Mother;
You have done wrong then: I know how to place
My guifts, and where; and when to find my seasons
To give, not throw away my Curtesies.
Mau.
Count you this thrown away?
Mar.
What's ravish'd from mee
I count it worse; as stolne: I loose my thanks.
But leave this quest: they fit not you, nor mee,
Maudlin, Contentions of this qualitie.
How now?
Sca.
Your Stag's return'd upon my shoulders,
Scathlock enters.
Hee has found his way into the Kitchin againe:
With his two Leggs, If now your Cooke can dresse him;
Slid, I thought the Swine'ard would ha' beat mee,
Hee lookes so big! the sturdie Karle, lewd Lorel!
Mar.
There Scathlock, for thy paines, thou hast deserv'd it.
Marian gives him Gold.
Mau.
Do you give a thing, and take a thing, Madam?
Mar.
No, Maudlin, you had imparted to your Neighbours;
As much good doo't them: I ha' done no wrong.
Mau.
The Spit stand still, no Broches turne
Before the fire, but let it burne
The first Charme.
Both sides, and haunches, 'till the whole
Converted be into one Cole.
Cla.
What Devills Pater noster mumbles shee?
Alk.
Stay, you will heare more of her witcherie
Mau.
The Swill and Dropsie enter in
The Lazie Cuke, and swell his skin;
2.
And the old Mort-malon his shin
Now prick, and itch, withouten blin.
Cla.
Speake out Hagge, wee may heare your Devills Mattens.
Mau.
The Pæne, wee call S. Antons fire
3.
The Gout, or what wee can desire,
To crampe a Cuke, in every lim,
Before they dine, yet; seize on him.
Alk.
A foule ill Spirit hath possessed her.
Am.
O Karol, Karol, call him back againe.
Lio.
Her thoughts do worke upon her, in her slumber.
And may expresse some part of her disease.
Rob.
Observe, and marke, but trouble not her ease.
Am.
O', ô.
Mar.
How is't Amie?
Mel.
Wherfore start you?
Am.
O' Karol, he is faire, and sweet.
Mau.
What then?
Are there not flowers as sweet, as faire, as men?
The Lillie is faire! and Rose is sweet!
Am.
I', so!
Let all the Roses, and the Lillies goe:
Karol is only faire to mee!
Mar.
And why?
Am.
Alas for Karol, Marian, I could die.
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He singeth sweetly too!
Mau.
What then?
Are there not Birds sing sweeter farre, then Men?
Am.
I grant the Linet, Larke, and Bul-finch sing,
But best, the deare, good Angell of the Spring,
The Nightingale.
Mau.
Then why? then why, alone,
Should his notes please you?
Am.
I not long agone
Tooke a delight, with wanton kidds to play,
And sport with little Lambes a Summers Day!
And view their friskes! me thought it was a sight
Of joy, to see my two brave Rammes to fight!
Now Karol, onely, all delight doth move!
All that is Karol, Karol I approve!
This verie morning, but—(I did bestow
(It was a little' gainst my will, I know)
A single kisse, upon the seelie Swaine,
And now I wish that verie kisse againe.
His lip is softer, sweeter then the Rose
His mouth, and tongue with dropping honey flowes.
The relish of it was a pleasing thing.
Mau.
Yet like the Bees it had a little sting.
Am.
And sunke, and sticks yet in my marrow deepe
And what doth hurt me, I now wish to keepe.
Mar.
Alas, how innocent her Storie is!
Am.
I doe remember, Marian, I have oft
With pleasure kist my Lambes, and Puppies, soft,
And once a daintie fine Roe-fawne I had,
Of whose out-skipping bounds, I was as glad
As of my health: and him I oft would kisse:
Yet had his, no such sting, or paine, as this.
They never prick't or hurt my heart. And, for
They were so blunt, and dull, I wish no more.
But this, that hurtes, and prickes doth please; This sweet,
Mingled with sower, I wish againe to meet:
And that delay, mee thinks, most tedious is
That keepes, or hinders mee of Karols kisse.
Mar.
Wee'll send for him sweet Amie, to come to you.
She goes murmuring out.
Mau.
But, I will keepe him of if Charmes will doe it.
Cla.
Doe you marke the murmuring hagge, how shee doth mutter?
Rob.
I like her not. And lesse her manners now.
Alk.
Shee is a shrewd deformed peice, I vow.
Lio.
As crooked as her bodie.
Rob.
I beleeve
Shee can take any Shape; as Scathlock saies.
Alk.
Shee may deceive the Sense, but really
Shee cannot change her selfe.
Rob.
Would I could see her,
Once more in Marians forme! for I am certaine
Now, it was shee abus'd us; as I think
My Marian, and my Love, now, innocent:
Which faith I seale unto her, with this kisse,
And call you all to witnesse of my pennance.
Alk.
It was beleiv'd before, but now confirm'd,
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Scene VII.
To themTuck. John. Much. Scarlet.
Tuc.
Heare you how
Poore Tom, the Cooke, is taken! All his joynts
Do crack, as if his Limbes were tied with points:
His whole frame slackens; and a kind of rack
Runs downe along the Spondylls of his back;
A Gowt, or Crampe, now seizeth on his head,
Then falls into his feet; his knees are lead;
And he can stirre his either hand, no more
Then a dead stumpe, to his office, as before.
Alk.
Hee is bewitched.
Cla.
This is an Argument
Both of her malice, and her power, wee see.
Alk.
Shee must by some device restrained bee,
Or shee'll goe farre in mischiefe.
Rob.
Advise how,
Sage Shep'ard, wee shall put it straight in practice.
Alk.
Send forth your woodmen, then, into the walkes,
Or let 'em prick her footing hence; A Witch
Is sure a Creature of Melancholy,
And will be found, or sitting in her fourme,
Or els, at releife, like a Hare.
Cla.
You speake
Alken, as if you knew the sport of Witch-hunting,
Enter George to the Huntsmen; who by themselves continue the Scene. The rest going off.
Or starting of a Hag.
Rob.
Go sirs about it,
Take George here with you, he can helpe to find her;
Leave Tuck, and Much behind to dresse the Dinner,
I' the Cookes stead.
Much.
Wee'll care to get that done.
Rob.
Come Marian, lets withdraw into the bowre.
Scene VIII.
John. Scarlet. Scathlock. George. Alken.Jo.
Rare sport I sweare! this hunting of the Witch
Will make us.
Scar.
Let's advise upon't, like huntsmen.
Geo.
And wee can spie her once, shee is our owne.
Sca.
First, think which way shee fourmeth, on what wind:
Or North, or South.
Geo.
For, as the Shep'ard said,
A Witch is a kind of Hare.
Scat.
And markes the weather,
As the hare does.
Jo.
Where shall wee hope to find her?
Alken returnes.
Alk.
I have ask'd leave to assist you, jollie huntsmen,
If an old Shep'herd may be heard among you;
Not jear'd or laugh'd at.
Jo.
Father, you will see
Robin-hoods house-hold, know more Curtesie.
Scat.
Who scornes at eld, peeles of his owne young haires.
Alk.
Yee say right well. Know yee the Witches Dell?
Scar.
No more then I do know the walkes of Hell.
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Within a gloomie dimble, shee doth dwell
Downe in a pitt, ore-growne with brakes and briars.
Close by the ruines of a shaken Abbey
Torne, with an Earth-quake, down unto the ground,
'Mongst graves, and grotts, neare an old Charnell house,
Where you shall find her sitting in her fourme,
As fearfull, and melancholique, as that
Shee is about; with Caterpillers kells
And knottie Cobwebs, rounded in with spells;
Thence shee steales forth to releif, in the foggs,
And rotten Mistes, upon the fens, and boggs,
Downe to the drowned Lands of Lincolneshire;
To make Ewes cast their Lambs! Swine eate their Farrow!
The House-wifes Tun not worke! Nor the Milk churne!
Writhe Childrens wrists! and suck their breath in sleepe!
Get Vialls of their blood! And where the Sea
Casts up his slimie Owze, search for a weed
To open locks with, and to rivet Charmes,
Planted about her, in the wicked feat,
Of all her mischiefes, which are manifold.
Jo.
I wonder such a storie could be told,
Of her dire deeds.
Geo.
I thought a Witches bankes
Had inclos'd nothing, but the merrie prankes
Of some old woman.
Skar.
Yes, her malice more!
Sca.
As it would quickly appeare, had wee the Store
Of his Collects.
Geo.
I, this gud learned Man
Can speake her right.
Skar.
He knowes, her shifts, and haunts!
Alk.
And all her wiles, and turnes. The venom'd Plants
Where with shee kill's! where the sad Mandrake growes,
Whose grones are deathfull! the dead-numming Night-shade!
The stupifying Hemlock! Adders tongue!
And Martagan! the shreikes of lucklesse Owles,
Wee heare! and croaking Night-Crowes in the aire!
Greene-bellied Snakes! blew fire-drakes in the skie!
And giddie Flitter-mice, with lether wings!
The scalie Beetles, with their habergeons,
That make a humming Murmur as they flie!
There, in the stocks of trees, white Faies doe dwell,
And span-long Elves, that dance about a poole!
With each a little Changeling, in their armes!
The airie spirits play with falling starres!
And mount the Sphere of fire, to kisse the Moone!
While, shee fitts reading by the Glow-wormes light,
Or rotten wood (o're which the worme hath crept)
The banefull scedule of her nocent charmes,
And binding Characters, through which shee wounds
Her Puppetts, the Sigilla of her witch-craft.
All this I know, and I will find her for you;
And shew you'her sitting in her fourme; I'le lay
My hand upon her; make her throw her skutt
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But you must give her Law: and you shall see her
Make twentie leapes, and doubles; crosse the pathes,
And then squatt downe beside us.
Jo.
Craftie Croane!
I long to be at the sport, and to report it.
Scar.
Wee'll make this hunting of the Witch, as famous,
As any other blast of Venerie.
Scat.
Hang her foule hagge, shee'll be a stinking Chase!
I had rather ha' the hunting of heir heyre.
Geo.
If wee could come to see her, cry, so haw, once!
Alk.
That I doe promise, or I'am no good Hag-finder.
| The Sad Shepherd :or, A Tale of Robin-Hood | |