I warrant ye. I am
glad I know it. I have suspected it a great while. Sophos! Why, what's
Sophos? a base fellow. Indeed he has a good wit, and can speak well.
He's a scholar, forsooth--one that hath more wit than money--and I like
not that; he may beg, for all that. Scholars! why, what are scholars
without money?

PLOD-ALL.
Faith, e'en like puddings without suet.

GRIPE.
Come, neighbour, send your son to my house, for he shall be welcome to
me, and my daughter shall entertain him kindly. What? I can and will
rule Lelia. Come, let's in; I'll discharge Sophos from my house
presently.

[_Exit_ GRIPE, PLOD-ALL, _and_ CHURMS.

WILL CRICKET.

A horn plague of this money, for it causeth many horns to bud; and for
money many men are horned; for when maids are forced to love where they
like not, it makes them lie where they should not. I'll be hanged, if
e'er Mistress Lelia will ha' Peter Plod-all; I swear by this button-cap
(do you mark?), and by the round, sound, and profound contents (do you
understand?) of this costly codpiece (being a good proper man, as you
see), that I could get her as soon as he myself. And if I had not a
month's mind in another place, I would have a fling at her, that's flat;
but I must set a good holiday-face on't, and go a wooing to pretty Peg:
well, I'll to her, i' faith, while 'tis in my mind. But stay; I'll see
how I can woo before I go: they say use makes perfectness. Look you now;
suppose this were Peg: now I set my cap o' the side on this fashion (do
ye see?); then say I, sweet honey, honey, sugar-candy Peg.

Whose face more fair than Brock my father's cow;

Whose eyes do shine,
Like bacon-rine;
Whose lips are blue,
Of azure hue;

Whose crooked nose down to her chin doth bow. For, you know, I must
begin to commend her beauty, and then I will tell her plainly that I am
in love with her over my high shoes; and then I will tell her that I do
nothing of nights but sleep, and think on her, and specially of mornings:
and that does make my stomach so rise, that I'll be sworn I can turn me
three or four bowls of porridge over in a morning afore breakfast.

_Enter_ ROBIN GOODFELLOW.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
How now, sirrah? what make you here, with all that timber in your neck?

WILL CRICKET.
Timber? Zounds, I think he be a witch; how knew he this were timber?
Mass, I'll speak him fair, and get out on's company; for I am afr