o or three hundred pounds. Well, I'll to them; if I can
get but one half, I'll deliver them their bonds, and leave the other
half to their own consciences: and so I shall be sure to get money to
bear charges. When all fails, well fare a good wit! But soft; no more of
that. Here comes Master Gripe.

_Enter_ GRIPE.

GRIPE.
What, Master Churms? what, all alone? How fares your body?

CHURMS.
Faith, sir, reasonable well: I am e'en walking here to take the
fresh air.

GRIPE.
'Tis very wholesome, this fair weather. But, Master Churms, how like you
my daughter? Can you do any good on her? Will she be ruled yet? How
stands she affected to Peter Plod-all?

CHURMS.
O, very well, sir; I have made her very conformable. O, let me alone to
persuade a woman. I hope you shall see her married within this week at
most,--(_Aside_) I mean to myself.

GRIPE.
Master Churms, I am so exceedingly beholding to you, I cannot tell how I
shall requite your kindness. But, i' the meantime, here's a brace of
angels for you to drink for your pains. This news hath e'en lightened my
heart. O sir, my neighbour Plod-all is very wealthy. Come, Master
Churms, you shall go home with me: we'll have good cheer, and be merry
for this to-night, i' faith.

CHURMS.
Well, let them laugh that win. [_Aside. Exeunt_.

_Enter_ PEG _and her_ GRANAM.

PEG.
Granam, give me but two crowns of red gold, and I'll give you twopence
of white silver, if Robin the devil be not a water-witch.

MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Marry, Jesus bless us! why, prythee?

PEG.
Marry, I'll tell you why. Upon the morrow after the blessed new year, I
came trip, trip, trip, over the market hill, holding up my petticoat to
the calves of my legs, to show my fine coloured stockings, and how
finely I could foot it in a pair of new corked shoes I had bought; and
there I spied this Monsieur Muffe lie gaping up into the skies, to know
how many maids would be with child in the town all the year after. O,
'tis a base vexation slave! How the country talks of the large-ribbed
varlet!

MOTHER MIDNIGHT.
Marry, out upon him. What a Friday-faced slave it is: I think in my
conscience, his face never keeps holiday.

PEG.
Why, his face can never be at quiet. He has such a choleric nose, I
durst ha' sworn by my maidenhead (God forgive me, that I should take
such an oath), that if William had had such a nose, I would never ha'
loved him.

_Enter_ WILLIAM CRICKET.

WILL CRICKET.
What a