gold too. Now, for
Sophos, let him wear the willow garland, and play the melancholy
malcontent, and pluck his hat down in his sullen eyes, and think on
Lelia in these desert groves: 'tis enough for him to have her in his
thoughts, although he ne'er embrace her in his arms. But now there's a
fine device comes into my head to scare the scholar: you shall see, I'll
make fine sport with him. They say that every day he keeps his walk
amongst these woods and melancholy shades, and on the bark of every
senseless tree engraves the tenor of his hapless hope. Now when he's at
Venus' altar at his orisons, I'll put me on my great carnation-nose, and
wrap me in a rowsing calf-skin suit, and come like some hobgoblin, or
some devil ascended from the grisly pit of hell, and like a scarbabe
make him take his legs: I'll play the devil, I warrant ye.
[_Exit_ ROBIN GOODFELLOW.
FORTUNATUS.
And if you do, by this hand, I'll play the conjuror.
Blush, Fortunatus, at the base conceit!
To stand aloof, like one that's in a trance,
And with thine eyes behold that miscreant imp,
Whose tongue['s] more venom['s] than the serpent's sting,
Before thy face thus taunt thy dearest friends--
Ay, thine own father--with reproachful terms!
Thy sister Lelia, she is bought and sold,
And learned Sophos, thy thrice-vowed friend,
Is made a stale by this base cursed crew
And damned den of vagrant runagates:
But here, in sight of sacred heav'ns, I swear
By all the sorrows of the Stygian souls,
By Mars his bloody blade, and fair Bellona's bowers,
I vow, these eyes shall ne'er behold my father's face,
These feet shall never pass these desert plains;
But pilgrim-like, I'll wander in these woods,
Until I find out Sopho's secret walks.
And sound the depth of all their plotted drifts.
Nor will I cease, until these hands revenge
Th'injurious wrong, that's offer'd to my friend,
Upon the workers of this stratagem.
[_Exit_.
_Enter_ PEG _sola_.
I' faith, i' faith, I cannot tell what to do;
I love, and I love, and I cannot tell who:
Out upon this love! for, wot you what?
I have suitors come huddle, twos upon twos,
And threes upon threes: and what think you
Troubles me? I must chat and kiss with all comers,
Or else no bargain.
_Enter_ WILL CRICKET, _and kisses her_.
WILL CRICKET.
A bargain, i' faith: ha, my sweet honey-sops! how dost thou?
PEG.
Well, I thank you, William;
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