University of Virginia Library

Chorus.
Enter Bohan and Obiron.
Ober.
Beleue me bonny Scot, these strange euents,
Are passing pleasing, may they end as well.

Boha.
Else say that Bohan hath a barren skull,
If better motions yet then any past,
Do not more glee to make the fairie greet,
But my small son made prittie hansome shift,
To saue the Queene his Mistresse by his speed.

Obiro.
Yea you Ladie for his sport he made,
Shall see when least he hopes, Ile stand his friend,
Or else hee capers in a halters end.

Boha.
What hang my son? I trowe not Obiran:
Ile rather die, then see him woe begon.

Enter a rewnd, or some daunce at Pleasure.
Ober.
Bohan be pleasd, for do they what they will,
Heere is my hand, Ile saue thy son from ill.

Exit.