Saw. Contaminetur nomen tuum. I'm an expert

scholar;3

8

Speak Latin, or I know not well what language, As well as the best of 'em-but who comes here?

Re-enter CUDDY BANKS.

The son of my worst foe.

To death pursue 'em,

Et sanctabacetur nomen tuum.

Cud. What's that she mumbles? the devil's paternoster? would it were else!-Mother Sawyer, good-morrow.

Saw. Ill-morrow to thee, and all the world that flout

A poor old woman.

To death pursue 'em,

And sanctabacetur nomen tuum.

Cud. Nay, good gammer Sawyer, whate'er it pleases my father to call you, I know you areSaw. A witch.

Cud. A witch? would you were else, i'faith!
Saw. Your father knows I am, by this.

Cud. I would he did!

Saw. And so in time may you.

Cud. I would I might else! But witch or no witch, you are a motherly woman; and though my father be a kind of God-bless-us, as they say,

I

3. Contaminetur, &c. I'm an expert scholar.] Pretty well for a beginner. This jargon is put into the mouths of the speakers for the laudable purpose of avoiding all profanation of the sacred

text.

have an earnest suit to you; and if you'll be so kind to ka me one good turn, I'll be so courteous to kob you another."

Saw. What's that? to spurn, beat me, and call me witch,

As your kind father doth?

Cud. My father! I am ashamed to own him. If he has hurt the head of thy credit, there's money to buy thee a plaster; (gives her money) and a small courtesy I would require at thy hands.

Saw. You seem a good young man, and-I must dissemble,

The better to accomplish my revenge.-(Aside.) But-for this silver, what wouldst have me do? Bewitch thee?

Cud. No, by no means; I am bewitch'd already: I would have thee so good as to unwitch me, or witch another with me for company.

Saw. I understand thee not; be plain, my son. Cud. As a pike-staff, mother. You know Kate Carter?

Saw. The wealthy yeoman's daughter? what of her?

Cud. That same party has bewitch'd me.
Saw. Bewitch'd thee?

Cud. Bewitch'd me, hisce auribus. I saw a

9 If you'll be so kind to ka me one good turn, I'll be so courteous to kob you another.] "Ka me, ka thee," was the old proverb, before it fell into the hands of Cuddy, who is so desperately witty, that he can let no plain expression alone. See Massinger, where several examples of this expression will be found; vol. iv. p. 34.

little devil fly out of her eye like a but-bolt,' which sticks at this hour up to the feathers in my heart. Now, my request is, to d'ye-call-'ems, either to another as fast in her's: I am thine for three lives,

send one of thy whatpluck that out, or stick do, and here's my hand,

Saw. We shall have sport. (Aside.)—Thou art in love with her?

Cud. Up to the very hilts, mother.

Saw. And thou wouldst have me make her love thee too?

Cud. I think she'll prove a witch in earnest. (Aside.) Yes, I could find in my heart to strike her three quarters deep in love with me too.

Saw. But dost thou think that I can do't, and I

alone?

Cud. Truly, mother witch, I do verily believe so; and, when I see it done, I shall be half persuaded so too.

Saw. It is enough; what art can do, be sure of. Turn to the west, and whatsoe'er thou hear'st Or seest, stand silent, and be not afraid.

[She stamps on the ground; the DoG ap

pears, and fawns, and leaps upon her. Cud. Afraid, mother witch!" turn my face to the west!" I said I should always have a backfriend of her; and now it's out. An her little

like a but-bolt.] This should not be confounded with bur or bird-bolt. It was the strong, unbarbed arrow used by the citizens in " shooting at the but;" the other was light, pointless, and, as our old writers describe it, "gross-knobbed, for stunning.”

devil should be hungry, come sneaking behind me, like a cowardly catchpole, and clap his talons on my haunches-Tis woundy cold sure-I dudder and shake like an aspen leaf every joint of me. Saw. To scandal and disgrace pursue 'em,

Et sanctabicetur nomen tuum. [Exit DoG. How now, my son, how is't?

Cud. Scarce in a clean life, mother witch.—But did your goblin and you spout Latin together? Saw. A kind of charm I work by; didst thou hear me?

Cud. I heard I know not the devil what mumble in a scurvy base tone, like a drum that had taken cold in the head the last muster. Very comfortable words; what were they? and who taught them you?

Saw. A great learned man.

Cud. Learned man! learned devil it was as soon! But what? what comfortable news about

the party?

Saw. Who? Kate Carter? I'll tell thee. Thou know'st the stile at the west end of thy father's pease-field; be there to-morrow night after sunset; and the first live thing thou seest, be sure to follow, and that shall bring thee to thy love. Cud. In the pease-field? has she a mind to codlings already? The first living thing I meet, you

say, shall bring me to her?

2 Cuddy. In the pease-field? has she a mind to codlings already?] I observed (page 407) that, by codlings, in the passage there

Saw. To a sight of her, I mean.

She will seem

wantonly coy, and flee thee; but follow her close and boldly do but embrace her in thy arms once, and she is thine own.

Cud. "At the stile, at the west-end of my father's pease-land, the first live thing I see, follow and embrace her, and she shall be thine." Nay, an I come to embracing once, she shall be mine ; I'll go near to make a taglet else.

[Exit. Saw. A ball well bandied! now the set's half

won;

The father's wrong I'll wreak
I'll wreak upon the son.

[Exit.

quoted, Ford meant young pease; and the quotation from the text sufficiently proves it. Lydgate, in his poem called Lickpenny, mentions them as cried about the streets of London in his time, ready dressed, with strawberries and cherries on the stalk.

"Hot pescods on began to crye,

Strawberries ripe, and cherries in the ryse."

Burton mentions green pease under the name of codlings, in his Anatomie. Brome, in his " Mad Couple well matched," speaks of sending early cherries and codlings to the citizens' wives, as bribes to procure credit for their commodities. Apples in June, when, in the language of our old writers, they had scarcely codded, whether hot or cold, would have proved no great temptation to ladies of such exquisite taste as the fair What-d'ye-lacks of Cheapside : early pease might, indeed, hope to tempt them; and such were their codlings. It may be added, that so common was the word in this sense, that the women who gathered pease for the London markets were called codders; a name which they still retain. That there was an apple of this name was never meant to be questioned.