Sir Ar. Well, you may have a morrice to help

both;

To strike you in a dump, and make him merry.

Enter SAWGUT, the Fiddler, with the Morricedancers, &c.

Saw. Come, will you set yourselves in morrice-ray? the fore-bell, second-bell, tenor, and great-bell; Maid Marian for the same bell. But where's the weather-cock now? the Hobby-horse? 1 Cl. Is not Banks come yet? What a spite 'tis!

Sir Ar. When set you forward, gentlemen?

1 Cl. We stay but for the hobby-horse, sir; all our footmen are ready.

Som. 'Tis marvel your horse should be behind your foot.

2 Cl. Yes, sir, he goes further about; we can come in at the wicket, but the broad gate must be opened for him.

Enter CUDDY BANKS, with the Hobby-horse,' followed by Doc.

Sir Ar. Oh, we staid for you, sir.

Cud. Only my horse wanted a shoe, sir; but we shall make you amends ere we part.

The end of this tale frequently forgets the beginning. Cuddy had more than once declared that he would have all trebles, no means, or bases; yet we have father Sawgut arranging his counters, tenors, and bases as usual. The reader will find a full description of the bobby-horse, and his train of attendants, in Jonson, vol. ii. p. 50.

Sir Ar. Ay? well said; make 'em drink ere

they begin.

Enter Servants with beer.

Cud. A bowl, I prithee, and a little for my horse; he'll mount the better. Nay, give me, I must drink to him, he'll not pledge else [drinks]. Here, Hobby,-[holds the bowl to the hobby-horse]—I pray you: no? not drink! You see, gentlemen, we can but bring our horse to the water; he may choose whether he'll drink or no.-[Drinks again.]

Som. A good moral made plain by history.

1 Clown. Strike up, father Sawgut, strike up. Saw. E'en when you will, children. [Cuddy mounts the hobby.]-Now in the name of the best foot forward!-[Endeavours to play; but the fiddle gives no sound.]-How now! not a word in thy guts? I think, children, my instrument has caught cold on the sudden.

Cud. My ningle's knavery; black Tom's doing. [Aside.]

All. Why, what mean you, father Sawgut? Cud. Why, what would you have him do? you hear his fiddle is speechless.

Saw. I'll lay mine ear to my instrument, that my poor fiddle is bewitched. I play'd The Flowers in May e'en now, as sweet as a violet; now 'twill not go against the hair: you see I can make no more music than a beetle of a cow-turd.

Cud. Let me see, father Sawgut; [takes the fiddle] say once you had a brave hobby-horse, that

you were beholden to.
Ningle, away with it.2
plays the Morrice.]
All. Ay, marry, sir!

I'll play and dance too.
[Gives it to the DOG, who

THE DANCE.

Enter a Constable and Officers.

Con. Away with jollity! 'tis too sad an hour. Sir Arthur Clarington, your own assistance, In the king's name, I charge, for apprehension Of these two murderers, Warbeck and Somerton. Sir Ar. Ha! flat murderers?

Som. Ha, ha, ha! this has awaken'd my melancholy.

War. And struck my mirth down flat.—Murderers?

Con. The accusation's flat against you, gentle

men.

Sir, you may be satisfied with this. [Shows his war

rant.]

I hope you'll quietly obey my power; 'Twill make your cause the fairer.

Both. Oh, with all our hearts, sir.

Cud. There's my rival taken up for hangman's meat; Tom told me he was about a piece of villany.-Mates and morrice-men, you see here's no

2

Among the properties of our old stage was a roobe for to goe invisabel." Whatever it was, it operated as a conventional hint to our easy ancestors not to see the person who wore it.Whether the urchin who played Tom had any signal of this kind, can hardly be told; but he frequently runs in and out, and bustles among the dramatis personæ without being discovered by them. In the present case, however, he was probably concealed from all but Cuddy by the long trappings of the hobby-horse.

longer piping, no longer dancing; this news of murder has slain the morrice. You that go the foot-way, fare ye well; I am for a gallop. Come, ningle.

[Canters off with the hobby, and Doc. Saw. [strikes his fiddle, which sounds as before.] Ay? nay, an my fiddle be come to himself again, I care not. I think the devil has been abroad amongst us to-day; I'll keep thee out of thy fit now, if I can. [Exit with the morrice-dancers. Sir Ar. These things are full of horror, full of

pity.

But if this time be constant to the proof,

The guilt of both these gentlemen I dare take
On mine own danger; yet, howsoever, sir,
Your power must be obey'd.

War. Oh, most willingly, sir.

"Tis a most sweet affliction; I could not meet
A joy in the best shape with better will:
Come, fear not, sir; nor judge, nor evidence
Can bind him o'er, who's freed by conscience.
Som. Mine stands so upright to the middle zone,
It takes no shadow to't, it goes alone. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.-Edmonton.-The Street.

Enter Old BANKS, and several Countrymen.

Banks. My horse this morning runs most piteously of the glanders, whose nose yesternight was

as clean as any man's here now coming from the barber's; and this, I'll take my death upon't, is long of this jadish witch, mother Sawyer.

1 Coun. I took my wife and a serving-man in our town of Edmonton, thrashing in my barn together, such corn as country-wenches carry to market; and examining my pole-cat why she did so, she swore in her conscience she was bewitch'd: and what witch have we about us, but mother Sawyer?

2 Coun. Rid the town of her, else all our wives will do nothing but dance about other country may-poles.

3 Coun. Our cattle fall, our wives fall, our daughters fall, and maid-servants fall; and we ourselves shall not be able to stand, if this beast be suffered to graze amongst us.

Enter W. HAMLUC, with thatch and a lighted link.

Ham. Burn the witch, the witch, the witch, the witch!

All. What has't got there?

Ham. A handful of thatch, pluck'd off a hovel of her's; and they say, when 'tis burning, if she be a witch, she'll come running in.

Banks. Fire it, fire it; I'll stand between thee and home, for any danger.

[HAM. sets fire to the thatch.

Enter Mother SAWYER, running.

Saw. Diseases, plagues, the curse of an old woman

Follow and fall upon you!