melancholy dumps.
Meanwhile, let's in, expecting
How the events of this device will fall,
Until to-morrow at th'appointed time,
When we'll expect the coming of your love.
What, man, I'll work it through the fire,
But you shall have her.

SOPHOS.
And I will study to deserve this love.

[_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ WILLIAM CRICKET _solus_.

WILL CRICKET.
Look on me, and look of Master Churms, a good, proper man. Marry, Master
Churms has something a better pair of legs indeed, but for a sweet face,
a fine beard, comely corpse, and a carousing codpiece.

All England, if it can,
Show me such a man,
To win a wench, by Gis,
To clip, to coll, to kiss,
As William Cricket is.

Why, look you now: if I had been such a great, long, large, lobcocked,
loselled lurden, as Master Churms is, I'll warrant you, I should never
have got Peg as long as I had lived, for, do you mark, a wench will
never love a man that has all his substance in his legs. But stay: here
comes my landlord; I must go salute him.

_Enter old_ PLOD-ALL _and his son_ PETER.

PLOD-ALL.
Come hither, Peter. When didst thou see Robin Goodfellow? He's the man
must do the fact.

PETER PLOD-ALL.
Faith, father, I see him not this two days, but I'll seek him out, for
I know he'll do the deed, and she were twenty Leilas. For, father, he's
a very cunning man for give him but ten groats, and he'll give me a
powder that will make Lelia come to bed to me, and when I have her there,
I'll use her well enough.

PLOD-ALL.
Will he so? Marry, I will give him vorty shillings, if he can do it.

PETER PLOD-ALL.
Nay, he'll do more than that too, for he'll make himself like a devil,
and fray the scholar that hankers about her out on's wits.

PLOD-ALL.
Marry, Jesus bless us! will he so? Marry, thou shalt have vorty
shillings to give him, and thy mother shall bestow a hard cheese
on him beside.

WILL CRICKET.
Landlord, a pox on you, this good morn!

PLOD-ALL.
How now, fool? what, dost curse me?

WILL CRICKET.
How now, fool! How now, caterpillar? It's a sign of death, when such
vermin creep hedges so early in the morning.

PETER PLOD-ALL.
Sirrah foul manners, do you know to whom you speak?

WILL CRICKET.
Indeed, Peter, I must confess I want some of your wooing manners, or
else I might have turned my fair bushtail to you instead of your father,
and have given you the ill salutation this morning.

PETER PLO