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mon now-a-days, that the counterfeit will not be regarded. They say we have three or four in Edmonton, besides mother Sawyer.

2 Cl. I would she would dance her part with us.

3 Cl. So would not I; for if she comes, the devil and all comes along with her.

Cud. Well, I'll have a witch; I have loved a witch ever since I played at cherry-pit. Leave me, and get my horse dress'd; give him oats; but water him not till I come. Whither do we foot it first?

2 Cl. To Sir Arthur Clarington's first; then whither thou wilt.

Cud. Well, I am content; but we must up to Carter's, the rich yeoman; I must be seen on hobby-horse there.

1 Cl. Oh, I smell him now !—I'll lay my ears Banks is in love, and that's the reason he would walk melancholy by himself.

Cud. Hah! who was that said I was in love? I CI. Not I. 2 Cl. Nor I.

Cud. Go to, no more of that: when I understand what you speak, I know what you say; believe that.

1 Cl. Well, 'twas I, I'll not deny it; I meant no hurt in't; I have seen you walk up to Carter's of Chessum: Banks, were not you there last Shrove-tide?

Cud. Yes, I was ten days together there the last Shrove-tide.

2 Cl. How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week?

Cud. Prithee peace! I reckon stila nova as a traveller; thou understandest as a fresh-water farmer, that never saw'st a week beyond sea. Ask any soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he'll tell thee there are eight' days in the week there, hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places ?

3 Cl. Aye, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet.

Cud. No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee look but in the lover's almanack; when he has been but three days absent, “Oh, says he, I have not seen my love these seven years:" there's a long cut! When he comes to her again and embraces her, Oh, says he, now methinks I am in Heaven;" and that's a pretty step! he that can get up to Heaven in ten days, need not repent his journey; you may ride a hundred days in a caroch, and be farther off than when you set forth. But I pray you, good morrice-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight.

1 Cl. Well, since he will be alone, we'll back again and trouble him no more.

All. But remember, Banks.


. Ask any soldier, &c.] Thus Butler:

“ The soldier does it every day,

Eight to the week, for sixpence pay."

Cud. The hobby-horse shall be remembered. But hark you; get Poldavis, the barber's boy, for the witch;1 because he can show his art better than another.

[Exeunt all but Cuddy. Well, now to my walk. I am near the place where I should meet-I know not what : say I meet a thief? I must follow him, if to the gallows; say I meet a horse, or hare, or hound? still I must follow : some slow-paced beast, I hope ; yet love is full of lightness in the heaviest lovers. Ha! my guide is come.

Enter Dog. A water-dog! I am thy first man, sculler; I go

I with thee; ply no other but myself. Away with the boat! land me but at Katherine's Dock, my sweet Katherine's Dock, and I'll be a fare to thee. That way? nay, which way thou wilt ;

, thou know'st the way better than I :-fine gentle cur it is, and well brought up, I warrant him. We go a-ducking, spaniel ; thou shalt fetch me the ducks, pretty kind rascal.

Enter a Spirit, vizarded. He throws off his mask, &c.

and appears in the shape of KATHERINE. Spir. Thus throw I off mine own essential hor


Get Poldavis, the barber's boy, for the witch.] It does not appear what arts the boy was to show, unless he were called on for those tricks of legerdemain, which were usually allotted to the hobby-horse bimself. The matter is of little moment, for no boy appears, and Cuddy makes no inquiries after him.

And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid
Whom this fool dotes on; we can meet his folly,
But from his virtues must be run-aways.
We'll sport with him; but when we reckoning

call, We know where to receive; the witch pays for all.

[Dog barks. Cud. Ay? is that the watchword ? She's

(Sees the Spirit.) Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking-church,“ in memory of thee; now come behind, kind cur.


And have I met thee, sweet Kate?
I will teach thee to walk so late.

Oh see, we meet in metre. (The Spirit retires as he advances.) What! dost thou trip from me? Oh, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble! “Stay nymph, stay nymph,” sing'd Apollo.

Tarry and kiss me; sweet nymph, stay!

Tarry and kiss me, sweet. .

We will to Chessum Street,
And then to the house stands in the highway.

Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you.

[Exit, following the Spirit. (Within.) Oh, help, help! I am drown'd, I am drown'd!

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Barking Church stood at the bottom of Seething Lane. It was destroyed in the great fire.

Re-enter Cuddy wet.

Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Cud. This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I find it now in Pond's almanack : thinking to land at Katherine's Dock, I was almost at Gravesend. I'll never go to a wench in the dog-days again ; yet ’tis cool enough. Had you never a paw in this dog-trick ? a mange take that black hide of your's! I'll throw you in at Limehouse, in some tanner's pit or other.

Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Cud. How now? who's that laughs at me? Hist, to him! (Dog barks.)—Peace, peace! thou didst but thy kind neither; 'twas my own fault.

Dog. Take heed how thou trustest the devil another time.

Cud. How now! who's that speaks? I hope you have not your reading tongue about you?

Dog. Yes, I can speak.

Cud. The devil you can! you have read Æsop's fables then: I have play'd one of your parts there; the dog that catch'd at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechize you a little; what might one call your name, dog?

Dog. My dame calls me Tom.

Cud. 'Tis well, and she may call me Ass; so there's an whole one betwixt us, Tom-Ass : she


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