Tush these are accidents, all game is (subject to.

Somewhat strange, but not as you inforce it,

Yes where we purpos'd.

That was with Master Generous.

A Character not common in this age.

He hath spy'd us, there is no way to evade him.

That's my griefe; a most notorious lyar, out upō him.

Let's set the best face on't.

Swcet Mr. Whetstone.

Dainty Mr. Whetstone.

D [...]licate Master Whetstone.

You say right, Mr. Whetstone I have bin, Mr. Whet­stone I am, and Mr. Whetstone I shall be, and those that know me, know withall that I have not my name for nothing, I am hee whom all the brave Blades of the Country use to whet their wits upon; sweet Mr. Shakton, dainty Mr. Bantham, and dainty Mr. Arthur, and how, and how, what all lustick, all froligozone? I know, you are going to my Vncles to dinner, and [...]o am I too, What shall we all make one randevous there,

You need not doubt of your welcome.

No doubt at all kind Mr. Whetstone; but we have not seene you of late, you are growne a great stranger amongst us, I desire sometimes to give you a visit; I pray where do you lye?

Where doe I lye? why sometimes in one place, and then againe in another, I love to shift lodgings; but most con­stantly, wheresoere I dine or sup, there doe I lye?

I thinke you are a Witch Master Whetstone.

[...]ow? A Witch Gentlemen? I hope you doe not meane to abuse me, though at this time (if report be true there are too many of them here in our Country) but I am sure I look like no such ugly Creature.

It seemes then you are of opinion that there are Wit­ches, for mine own part, I can hardly be induc'd to think there [...] any such kinde of people.

No such kinde of people! I pray you tell me Gentle­men, did never any one of you know my Mother?

Why was your Mother a Witch?

I doe not say as Witches goe now a dayes, for they for the most part are ugly old Belda [...]s, but she was a lusty young Lasse, and by her owne report, by her beauty and faire lookes bewitcht my Father.

It seemes then your Mother was rather a yong wan­ton wench, than an old wither'd witch.

You say right, and know withall I come of two an­cient Families, for as I am a Whetstone by the Mother-side, so I am a By-blow by the Fathers.

It appeares then by your discourse, that you came in at the window.

He hath confest himselfe to be a Bastard.

And I beleeve't as a notorious truth.

Gentlemen, it seemes you have some private businesse amongst your selves, which I am not willing to interrupt, I know not how the day goes with you, but for mine owne part, my stomacke is now much upon 12. You know what houre my Vncle keeeps, and I love ever to bee set before the first grace, I am going before, speake, shall I acquaint him with your comming after?

We meane this day to see what fare he keepes.

And so intyre us to you.

Sweet Mr. Whetstone.

Kind Mr. Bybl [...]w.

I see you are perfect both in my name & sirname; I have [...] ever bound unto you, for which I will at this time be your [Page] Noverint, and give him notice that you Universi will bee with him per praesentes, and that I take to be presently.

Farewell As in praesenti.

It seemes hee's peece of a Scholler.

What because he hath read a little Scriveners Latine, hee n [...]ver proceeded farther in his Accidence than to Mentiri non est meum; and that was such a hard Lesson to learne, that he stucke at ment [...]ri; and cu'd never reach to non est meum: since, a meere Ignaro, and not worth acknowledgement.

Are these then the best parts he can boast of?

As you see him now, so shall you finde him ever: all in one strain, there is one only thing which I wonder he left our.

And what might that be:

You name him in good time, see where he comes.

Wherein good sir.

I ever studied plainene [...]e, and truth withall.

I pray expresse your selfe.

Presume it sir.

Now when you please pray Enter Gentlemen.

O sir you may command us.

True sir the same.

It was to that purpose wee discourst.

Your monie's ready,

Why I intreat you.

Strange, but how?

Can you discourse the manner?

How thinke you might this come.

T'is thought by Witchcraft.

Nay but vnderstand me neighbor Doughty.

Good master Seely I do understand you, and over and over understand you so much, that I could e'ene blush at your fondnesse; and had I a sonne to serve mee so, I would con­ure a divell out of him.

Alas he is my childe.

No, you are his childe to live in feare of him, indeed they say old men become children againe, but before I would become my childes childe, and make my foot my head, I would stand upon my head, and kick my heels at the sides.

You do not know what an only son is, O see, he comes now if you can appease his anger toward me, you shall doe an act of timely charity.

I wonder at your confidence, and how you dare ap­peare before me.

A brave beginning.

O sonne be patient.

It is right reverend councell, I thanke you for it, I shall study patience shall I, while you practice waies to begger mee, shall I?

Very handsome.

If ever I trangresse in the like againe—

I have taken your word too often sir and neither can nor will forbeare you longer.

What not your Father Mr. Gregory?

Whats that to you sir?

Pray tell me then sir, how many yeares has hee to serve you.

He is a happy [...]re that has brought vp his son to this.

Yes, for a new one to morrow.

But I did it not sonne?

Is that the businesse: why if he had done it, had hee not [Page] bin sufficiently secur'd in having the morgage made over to himselfe.

He does nothing but practice waies to undo himselfe, and me: a very spendthrift, a prodigall sire, hee was at the Ale but tother day, and spent a foure-penny club.

'Tis gone and past sonne.

Truely we were civily merry. But I have left it.

Your civility have you not? For no longer agoe than last holiday evening he gam'd away eight double ring'd tokens on a rubbers at bowles with the Curate, and some of his idle companions.

'Tw [...]re good you would meddle with your own mat­ters [...]ir.

Sonne, sonne.

Sir, Sir, as I am not beholden to you for house or Land, for it has stood in the name of my ancestry the Seelyes above two hundred yeares, so will I look you leave all as you found it.

What is the matter con yeow tell?

O Lawrence, welcom, Thou wilt make al wel I am sure.

Yie whick way con yeow tell, but what the foule evill doone yee, heres sick an a din.

Art thou his man fellow ha? that talkest thus to him?

Yie sir, and what ma' yoew o'that, he mainteynes me to rule him, and i'le deu't, or ma'the heart weary o'the weambe on him.

This is quite upside downe, the sonne controlls the fa­ther, and the man overcrowes his masters coxscombe, sure they are all bewitch'd.

'Twas but so, truely Lawrence; the peevish old man vex't me, for which I did my duty, in telling him his owne, and [Page] Doughty here maintaines him against me.

I forbodden yeow to meddle with the old carle, and let me alone with him, yet yeow still be at him, hee serv'd yeow but weell to bast ye for't, ant he were stronk enough, but an I faw foule with yee an I swaddle yee not savorly may my girts brast.

Prethee good Lawrence be gentle and do not fright thy Master so.

Yie, at your command anon.

Enough good Lawrence, you have said enough.

How trow yeou that? A fine World when a man can­not be whyet at heame for busie brain'd neighpors.

I cannot indure it nor I will not indure it.

Hey day! the daughter upon the mother too.

One of us two, chuse you which, must leave the house, wee are not to live together I see that, but I will know, if there be Law in Lancashire for't, which is fit first to depart the house or the World, the mother or the daughter.

Daughter I say.

Do you say the daughter, for that word I say the mother, unlesse you can prove me the eldest, as my discretion almost war­rant it, I say the mother shall out of the house or take such cour­ses in it as shall sort with such a house and such a daughter.

Daughter I say, I wil take any course so thou wilt leave thy passton; indeed it hurts thee childe, I'le sing and be merry, weare as fine clothes, and as delicate dressings as thou wilt have me, so thou wilt pacifie thy selfe, and be at peace with me.

O will yo [...] so, in so doing I may chance to looke upon you. Is this a fit habite for a handsome young Gentlewo­mans mother, as I hope to be a Lady, you look like one o'the Scottish wayward sisters, O my hart has got the hickup, and all [Page] look [...] greene about [...]; a merry song now mother, and thou shalt be my white girle.

Ha, ha, ha! she's overcome with joy at my conversion.

She is most evidently bewitcht.

Thus wodden yeou doone and I were dead, but while I live yoeu fadge not on it, is this aw the warke yeou con [...]ine?

Now comes the Mayd to set her Mis [...]sses to work.

Nay p [...]i'thee sweet Parnell, I was but chiding the old wife for her unhandsomnes [...]e, and would have been at my work presently, she tels me now she will weare fine things, and I shall dresse her head as I list.

Here's a house well govern'd?

Dresse me no dressings, lessen I dresse yeou beth, and learne a new lesson with a wainon right now, han I bin a ser­vant here this halfe dozen o'yeares, and con I fee yeou idler then my selve!

Nay pritheesweet Parnell content, & hark thee—

I have knowne this, and till very lately, as well go­vern'd a Family as the Country yeilds, and now what a nest of severall humors it is growne, and all divellish ones, sure all the VVitches in the Country, have their hands in this home-spun medley; and there be no few 'tis thought.

Yie, yie, ye shall ye shall, another time, but not naw I thonke yeou, yeou shall as soone pisse and paddle in't, as [...]lap me in the mouth with an awd Petticoat, or a new paire [...] [Page] shoine, to be whyet, I cannot be whyet, no [...] I wonnot be why­et, to see sicky doings I.

Hold thy prattle Parnell, aw's com'd about as weene a had it, wotst thou what Parnell? wotst thou what? o deare, wo [...]st thou what?

VVhat's the fond wexen waild trow I.

We han bin in love these three yeares, and ever wee had not enough, now is it com'd about that our love shall be at an end for ever, and a day, for wee mun wed may hunny, we mun wed.

What the Deowl ayles the lymmer lowne, bin thy braines broke lowse trow I.

Sick a waddin was there never i' Loncoshire as ween couple at on Monday newst.

Awa awaw, sayn yeou this sickerly, or done you but jaum me?

I jaum thee not nor flam thee not, ' [...]is all as true as booke, here's both our Masters have consented and concloyded, and our Mistresses mun yeild toyt, to put aw house and lond and aw they have into our hands.

Awa, awaw.

And we mun marry and be master and dame of aw.

Awa, awaw.

And theyn be our Sijourners, because they are weary of the world, to live in frendiblenesse, and see what will come on't.

Awa, awaw, agone.

Nay 'tis true Parnell, here's both our hands on't, and give you joy.

And ours too, and 'twill be fine Ifackins.

Whaw, whaw, whaw, whaw!

Here's a mad businesse towards.

I will bespeake the Guests.

And I the meat:

I'le dresse the dinner, though I drip my sweat.

My care shall sumptuous parrelments provide.

And my best art shall trickly trim the Bride.

VVhaw, whaw, whaw, whaw.

Ile get choyce musick for the merriment.

And I will waite with wonder the event.

VVhaw, whaw, whaw, whaw.

'Tis right.

Come my Mamilion like a Puggy,

Ha, ha, ha!

Of [...]eely's family?

Ha, ha, ha!

I that, be now the subject of our chat.

They'l search in yonder Meadow ground.

The Divell on Dun is rid this way. Ha. ha, ha, ha.

O' th' Steeple top; Ile sit & see you play.

VVe acknowledge it.

My hand is there too, for a man cannot set to his Marke, but it may be call'd his hand; I am a Gentleman both wayes, and it hath been held that it is the part of a Gentleman, to write a scurvie hand.

You write Sir like your selfe.

Still in that straine!

Say you so Gentlemen, nay then I am for your compa­ny still, 'tis sayd Hares are like Hermophrodites, one while Male, and another Female, and that which begets this yeare, brings young ones the next; which some think to be the reason that witches take their shapes so oft: Nay if I lye Pliny lyes too, but come, now I have light upon you, I cannot so lightly leave you farewell Vnckle.

Good Master Generous—

Robin.

Sir.

Goe call your Mistresse hither.

My Mistresse Sir, I doe call her Mistresse, as I do [...] call you Master, but if you would have me call my Mistresse to my Master, I may call lowd enough before she can heare me.

And so she may have at Supper too for ought I know, but I can assure you she is not now within my call.

To tell you true sir, I shall neither finde my Mistresse here, nor you your Gelding there.

Ha! how comes that to passe?

Whilst you were busie about your writings, she came and commanded me to saddle your Beast, and sayd she would ride abroad to take the ayre.

Which of your fellowes did she take along to wayte on her?

None sir.

None! hath she us'd it often?

Oftner I am sure then she goes to Church, and leave out Wednesdayes and Fridayes.

And still alone?

If you call that alone, when no body rides in her company.

But what times hath she sorted for these journeyes?

Commonly when you are abroad, and sometimes when you are full of businesse at home.

Onely conjures me that I shall keepe it from you, then clappes me in the fist with some small piece of silver, and then a [Page] Fish cannot be more silent then I.

Now you have exprest your minde, I know what I have to doe; first, not to tell her what I have told you &, next to keep her side-saddle from comming upon your Gueldings backe; but how soever it is like to hinder me of many a round tester.

You say well in that sir, I dare take your word, you are an honest Gentleman, and my Master; and now [...]ake mine as I am your true servant, before she shall backe your Guelding a­gain in your absence, while I have the charge of his keeping; she shall ride me, or Ile ri [...]e her.

Good newes for me, I shall sir.

Yes sir, I so remember it, that most certaine it is I ne­ver shal forget it, my mouth waters ever since when I but think on't, whilst you w [...]re at supper above, the drawer had me down into the Cellar below, I know the way in againe if I see't, but at that time to finde the way out againe, I had the help of more eies than mine owne: is the taste of that Ipsitate s [...]il in your pal­lat sir?

I shall: never c'ud I have met with such a faire oppor­tunitie: for iust in the mid way lies my sweet-heart, as lovely a lasse as any is in Lancashire, and kisses as sweetly [...] see her go­ing or comming, i'le have one smouch at thy lips, and bee with thee to bring Mal Spencer.

You seeme sir a Gentleman of quality, and no doubt but in your youth have beene acquainted with affaires military, in your very lookes there appeares bounty, and in your person hu­manity. Please you to vouchsafe the tender of some small cour­tesie to help to beare a souldier into his countrey.

With the Russian against the Polack, a heavy war, and hath brought me to this hard fate. I was tooke prisoner by the Pole, & after some few weeks of durance, got both my freedom and passe. I have it about me to show, please you to vou [...]ase the perusall.

It shall not need. What Countreyman.

Yorkeshire sir. Many a sharp battell by land, and ma­ny a sharpe storme at sea, many a long mile, and many a short meale, I have travel'd and suffer'd ere I c'ud reach thus far, I [...] you sir take my poore & wretched case into your wor­ships noble consideration.

I sir! Loitering I defie sir, I hate lazinesse as I do lepro­sie: It is the next way to breed the scurvie, put mee to hedge, ditch, plow, thresh, dig, delve, any thing: your worship shal find that [...] love nothing lesse than [...]oitering.

Friend thou speakest well.

Your Mill quoth he, if ever you take me in your mill againe, i'le give you leave to cast my flesh to the dogges, and grinde my flesh to pouder, betwixt the Milstones. Cats do you call them, for their hugenesse they might bee cat a mountaines, and for their clawes, I thinke I have it here in red and white to sh [...]w, [...] pray looke here sir, a murreine take them, ile be sworne they have [...], where I am [...]ure it itcht not.

How cam'st thou in this pickle?

Yoiu see sir, and what you see, I have felt, & am come to give you to unde [...]stand i'le not indure such another night if you would give mee your mill for nothing, they say we Millers are theeves: but I c'ud as soone bee hangd as steale one piece of a [...]ap all the night long, good Landlord provide your selfe of a new tenant, the noise of such catterwawling, & such scratching and clawing, before I would indure againe, i'le bee tyed to the [...]aile when the winde blowes sharpest, and they flie swiftest, till I be torne into as many fitters as I have toes and fingers.

I was a Miller my selfe before I was a souldier. What one of my own trade should be so poorely spirited frighted with cats?

Over and over, here I utterly renounce it; nor would I stay in it longer, if you would give me your whole estate; nay if I say it, you may take my word Landlord.

I pray sir dare you trust your mill with me.

Give me the keies, ile stand it all danger.

'Tis a match: deliver them.

Mary withall my heart, and I am glad, I am so rid of em.

Now I have gathered Bullies, and fild my bellie pretty well, i'le goe see some sport. There are gentlemen coursing in the medow hard by; and 'tis a game that I love better than go­ing to Schoole ten to one.

What have we here a brace of Greyhounds broke loose from their masters: it must needs be so, for they have both their Col­lers and slippes about their neckes. Now I looke better upon them, me thinks I should know them, and so I do: these are Mr. Robinsons dogges, that dwels some two miles off, i'le take them up, & lead them home to their master; it may be somthing in my way, for he is as liberall a gentleman, as any is in our countrie, Come Hector, come. Now if I c'ud but start a Hare by the way, [...]ill her, and carry her home to my supper, I should thinke [...] had [Page] made a better afternooones worke of it than gathering of bu [...] ­lies. Come poore curres along with me.

My Dog as yours.

For what?

A piece.

'Tis done.

I say the pide dog shall outstrip the browne.

And ile take the brown dogs partagainst the pide

Yes when hee's at his lap [...]oule take his part.

Bantam forbeare him prethee.

He talks so like an Asse I have not patience to indure his non sence.

The browne dogge for two peeces.

Of what?

Well sir, I take [...]: will [...]ou cover these, give them in­to the hands of either of those two gentlemen.

What needs that? doe you thinke my word and my money is not all one?

And weigh alike: both many graines too light.

Enough of that, I presume Mr. Whetstone, you are not [...] what belongs to the sport of hunting.

I thinke I have reason, for I have bin at the death of more [...].

More then you shed the last fall of the leafe.

More then any man here I am sure. I should be loath at these yeares to be ignorant of hairing or whoring. I kn [...]w a hare close hunred, clime a tree.

To finde out birds [...]

Another [...] into a river, nothing appearing above water, save onely the tip of her nose to take breath.

Nay that's verie likely, for no man can fish with an [...] but his Line must be made of hare.

It is thought you came into the World that way.

How meane you that?

Because you are a bastard.

Bastard! O base.

And thou art base all over.

Bastard? that shall be tried; well Gentlemen con­cerning Hare-hunting you might have hard more, if he had had the grace to have said lesse, but for the word Bastard, if I do not tell my Vncle, I and my Aunt too, either when I would speake ought or goe of the s [...]ore for any thing, let me never be trusted, they are older than I, and what know I, but they might bee by when I was begot; but if thou Bantam do'st not heare of this with both thine eares, if thou hast them still, and not lost them by scribling, instead of Whet-stone call me Grind [...]-stone, and for By-bl [...]w, Bulfinch. Gentlemen, for two of you your companie is faire and honest; but for you Bantam, remember and take no­tice also, that I am a bastard, and so much i'le testifie to my Aunt and Vncle.

What have you done, 'twill gri [...]ve the good old Gen­tleman, to heare him baffled thus.

A Hare, a Hare, hall [...]e, halloe, the Divell take these curres, will they not stir, halloe, halloe, there, there, there, what are they growne so lither and so lazie? Are Mr. [...] dogges turn'd tykes with a wanion? the Hare is yet in sigh [...], halloe, halloe, mary hang you [...]or a couple of [...] (i [...] you were worth hā ­ging, & have you serv'd me thus? [...] [...]erve you with the like sauce, you shall to the next bush, there will I [...] you, and use you like a couple of curs as you are, & tho [...]gh not lash you, yet [Page] lash you whilest my switch will hold, nay since you have left your speed, ile see if I can put spirit into you, and put you in re­membrance what halloe, halloe meanes.

Now blesse me heaven, one of the Greyhounds turn'd into a woman, the other into a boy! The lad I never saw before, but her I know well; it is my gammer Dickison.

When you had put your selfinto a dogs skin, I pray how c'ud I help it; but gammer are not you a Witch? if you bee, I beg upon my knees you will not hurt me.

Ile have none of your money gammer, because you are a Witch: and now she is out of her foure leg'd shape, ile see if with my two legs I can out-run her.

Nay sirra, though you be yong, and I old, you are not so nimble, nor I so lame, but I can overtake you.

Not I gammer indeedla, I dare not stay ont late, My father is a fell man, and if I bee out long, will both chide and beat me.

Help, help.

Thanks my sweet Mall for thy courteous entertainment, thy creame, thy cheese-cakes, and every good thing, this, this, & this for all.

But why in such hast good Robin?

I confesse my stay with thee is sweet to mee, but I must spur Cutt the faster for't, to be at home in the morning, I have yet to Lancaster to ride to night, and this my [...] of bottles, to fill to night, and then halfe a score mile to ride by cur­rie-combe time, i'the morning, or the old man chides Mal.

Hee shall not chide thee, feare it not.

Pray Bacchus I may please him with his wine, which will be the hardest thing to do; for since hee was last at London and tasted the Divinitie of the▪ Miter, scarce any liquour in Lan­cashire will go downe with him, sure, sure he will never be a Pu­ritane, he holds so well with the Miter.

Well Robert, I find your love by your haste from me, ile undertake you shal be at Lancaster, & twise as far, & yet at home time enough, and be rul'd by me.

Thou art a witty rogue, and thinkst to make me believe any thing, because I saw thee make thy broome sweepe the house without hands t'other day.

You shall see more than that presently, because you shall beleeve me; you know the house is all a bed here: and I dare not be mist in the morning. Besides, I must be at the wed­ding of Lawrence and Parnell to morrow.

I your old sweet heart Lawrence? Old love will not be forgotten

I care not for the losse of him, but if I [...] him not hang me: but to the point, if I goe with you to night, and help you to as good wine as your master desires, and you keepe your time with him, you will give me a pinte for my company.

Thy belly full wench.

I'le but take up my milk payle and leave it in the field, till our comming backe in the morning, and wee'll away.

Goe fetch it quickly then.

No Robert, rather than leave your company so long, it shall come to me.

I would but see that.

Looke yonder, what do you thinke on't.

Light, it comes; and I do thinke there is so much of the Divell in't as will turne all the milke shall come in't these seven yeares, and make it burne too, till it stinke worse than the Pro­verbe of the Bishops foot.

Looke you sir, heere I have it, will you get up and a­way.

My horse is gone, nay prithee Mal. thou hast set him a­wa [...], leave thy Roguerie.

Looke againe.

There stands a blacke long-sided jade: mine was a truss'd gray.

Nay but, nay but.

Nay, and you stand butting now, i'le leave you to look your horse. Payle on afore to the field, and staie till I come.

Come away then, hey for Lancaster: stand up▪

COme away wife, come away, and let us be rea­dy to breake the [...] over the Brides head at her entrance; we will have the honour of it, we that have playd the Steward and Cooke at home, though we lost Church by't, and saw not Parson Knit-knot do [...] his office, but wee [...]hall see all the house rites perform'd; and. [...] what a day of jol­lity and tranquility is here towards?

You are so frolick and so cranck now, upon the truce is taken amongst us, because our wrangling shall not wrong the Wedding, but take heed (you were best) how ye behave your selfe, lest a day to come may pay for all.

I feare nothing, and I hope to dye in this humor.

Oh how hot am I [...] rather then I would dresse such a­nother dinner this twelve moneth, I would wish Wedding quite out of this yeares Almanack▪

Ile fetch a Cup of Sack Wife—

How brag he is of his liberty, but the holy day carries it.

Here, here sweet-heart, they ar [...] lóng me thinks a com­ming, the Bels have rung out this halfe houre, harke now the wind brings the sound of them swe [...]tly againe.

They ring backwards me thinks.

I fack they doe, sure the greatest fire in the Parish is in our Kitchin, and there's no harme done yet, no [...] some merry conceit of the stretch▪ ropes the Ringers, now they have done, and now the Wedding comes, hearke, the Fidlers and all, now have I liv'd to see a day▪ come, take [...] stand, and be ready for the Bride-cake, which we will so cracke and crumble upon her crowne: o they come, they come.

Ioy, health; and children to the married paire.

& Parn. We thanke you all.

So pray come in and fare.

As well as we and taste of every cate:

With bon [...]y Bridegroome and his lov [...] mate.

This begins bravely.

They agree better then the Bels eene now, 'slid they [...]ung tunably till we were all out of the Church, and then they clatter'd as the divell had beene in the Bel [...]ry: on in the name of Wedlocke, Fidlers on.

On with your melody.

Welcome Bride [...]arnell.

It [...] out of my hand, and is [...] into [...] I think.

[...]? the divell of crum is here, but bran; no­thing but bran, what prodigie [...] this?

Is my best Brides Cake come to this! o wea warth it.

How daintily the Brides haire is powder'd with it.

My [...] stands [...] to see it.

And mine.

I was never so amaz'd!

What [...] meane?

Pax, I think [...] but some of m [...] Father and Mothers [...]oguery, this is a Law-day with 'em, to [...] what they list.

I never feare any thing, so long as my [...] but [...]idden me thinke of her, and [...] me.

Well Gentlemen, let's follow the [...] in, and feare no­thing yet, the house smels well of good [...].

Gentlemen, will it please you draw neere, the guests are now all come, and the house almost full, meat's taken up.

We were now comming.

But son [...]e Greg [...], Nephew Arthur, and the rest of the young Gentlemen, I shall take it for a favor if you will (it is an office which very good Gentlemen doe in this Country) ac­compane the Bridegroome in serving the meat.

With all our hearts.

Nay neighbor Doughty, your yeares shall excuse you.

Peugh, I am not so old but I can carry more meate then I can eate, if the young [...] coo [...]d carry their drinke as well, the Country would be quieter—

VVell fare your hearts,—the dresser calls in Gentlemen,

'Tis a busie time, yet will I review the Bill of fare, for this dayes dinner—(Reades) for 40▪ people of the best quality, 4. messes of meat; viz. a leg of Mutton in plum-broth, a dis [...] of Marrow­bones, a [...] white-broth, a Surlovne of beefe, a Pig, a Goose, a Turki [...], and two Pyes: for the second course, to every messe 4. Chickens in a dish, a couple of Rabbets, Custard, Flawn, Florentines, and stewd pruines,—all very good Country fare, and for my credit,—

The service enters, O well sayd [...], play up the meat to the Table till all be serv'd in, [...]e see it passe in answer to my bill.

Hold up your head Mr. Bridegroome.

On afore Fidlers, my [...] in my honds.

Inprim [...], a leg of Mutton in plum-broth,—how now Mr. Bridegroome, what carry you?

'Twere hot [...]ne now, but now it's caw'd as a steane.

A stone, 'tis horne man.

Aw—

It was Mutton, but now 'tis the horns [...].

Aw where's my Bride—

'Zookes, I brought as good a Surloyne of Beefe from the Dresser as Knife coo'd be put to, and see—Ile stay i' this house no longer.

And if this were not a Capon in white broth, I am one i' the Coope.

All, all's transform'd, looke you what I have!

And I.

And I! Yet I feare nothing thank my Aunt.

I had a Pie that is not open'd yet, Ile see what' [...] in that—live Birds as true as I live, look where they flye!

Witches, live Witches, the house is full of witches, if we love our lives let's out on't.

O husband, O guests, O sonne, O Gentlemen, such a chance in a Kitchin was never heard of, all the meat is flowne out o' the chimney top I thinke, and nothing instead of it, but Snakes, Bat [...]s, Frogs, Beetles, Hornets, and Humble-bees; all the Sallets are turn'd to Iewes-eares, Mushromes, and Puck fists; and all the Custards into Cow sheards!

VVhat shall we doe, dare we stay any longer?

Dare we! why not, I defie all VVitches, and all their workes; their power on our meat, cannot reach our persons.

I say so too, and so my Aunt ever told me, so long I will feare nothing; be not afrayd Mr. Doughty.

Zookes, I feare nothing living that I can see more then you, and that's nothing at all, but to thinke of these invisi­ble mischiefes, troubles me I confesse.

Sir I will not goe about to over-rule your reason, but [Page] but for my part I will not out of a house on a Bridall day, till I see the last man borne.

Zookes thou art so brave a fellow that I will stick to thee, and if we come off handsomely, I am an old Batchelour thou know'st, and must have an heyre, I like thy spirit, where's the Bride? where's the Bridegroome? where's the Musicke? where be the Lasses? ha' you any wine i' the house, though we make no dinner▪ lets try if we can make an afternoone.

Nay sir if you please to stay, now that the many are frighted away, I have some good cold meates, and halfe a dozen bottles of VVine.

And I will bid you welcome.

Say you me so, but will not your sonne be angry, and your daughter chide you.

Feare not you that sir, for look you I obey my Father.

And I my Mother.

And we are all at this instant as well and as sensible of our former errors, as you can wish us to be.

Na, if the Witches have but rob'd of your meat, and restor'd your reason, here has beene no hurt done to day, but this is strange, and as great a wonder as the rest to me.

It seemes though these Hags had power to make the Wedding cheere a Deceptio visus, the former store has scap'd 'em.

I am glad on't, but the divell good 'hem with my Surloyne, I thought to have set that by mine owne Trencher—But you have cold meat you say?

Yes Sir.

And Wine you say?

Yes sir.

I hope the Country wenches and the Fidlers are not gone.

They are all here, and one the merriest Wench; that makes all the rest so laugh and tickle.

Gentlemen will you in?

Agreed on all parts.

If not a Wedding we will make a Wake on't, and away with the Witch; I feare nothing now you have your wits againe: but look you, hold 'em while you have 'em.

I confesse thou hast done a Wonder in fetching me so good Wine, but my good Servant Robert, goe not about to put a Myracle upon me, I will rather beleeve that Laneaster affords this Wine, which I thought impossible till I tasted it, then that thou coo'dst in one night fetch it from London.

I have known when you have held mee for an honest fellow, and would have beleev'd me.

Th' art a Knave to wish me to beleeve this, forgi'me, I would have sworne if thou had'st stayd but time answerable for the journey (to his that flew to Paris and back to London in a day) it had been the same Wine, but it can never fall within the compasse of a Christians beleefe, that thou cou'dst ride above three hundred miles in 8. houres: You were no longer out, and upon one Horse too, and in the Night too!

And carry a Wench behind me too, and did something else too, but I must not speak of her lest I be divell-torne.

And fill thy bottles too, and come home halfe drunke too, for so thou art, thou wouldst never a had such a fancy else!

I am sorry I have sayd so much, and not let Lancaster have the credit o' the Wine.

O are you so! and why have you abus'd me and your selfe then all this while, to glorifie the Myter in Fleet-street?

I could say sir, that you might have the better opinion of the Wine, for there are a great many pallats in the Kingdome that can relish no Wine, unlesse [...] be of such a Taverne, and drawne by such a Drawer—

I sayd, and I say againe, if I were within ten mile of London, I durst sweare that this was Myter Wine, and drawn by honest Iacke Paine.

Nay then sir I swore, and I sweare again [...], honest Iack Paine drew it.

Ha, ha, ha, if I coo'd beleeve there were such a thing as Witchcraft, I should thinke this slave were bewitch'd now with an opinion.

Much good doe you sir, your Wine and your mirth, and my place for your next Groome, I desire not to stay to be laught out of my opinion.

Nay be not angry Robin, we must not part so, and how does my honest Drawer? ha, ha, ha; and what newes at Lon­don, Robin? ha, ha, ha; but your stay was so short I think you coo'd heare none, and such your haste home that you coo'd make none: is't not so Robin? ha, ha, ha, what a strange fancy has good Wine begot in his head?

Now will I push him over and over with a peece of paper: Yes sir, I have brought you something from London.

Come on, now let me heare.

Your honest Drawer sir, considering that you consi­der'd him well for his good wine—

VVhat shall we heare now?

VVas very carefull to keepe or convay this paper to you, which it seemes you dropt in the roome there.

Blesse me! this paper belongs to me indeed, 'tis an ac­quittance, and all I have to show for the payment of one hun­dred pound, I tooke great care for't, and coo'd not imagine where or how I might loose it, but why may not this bee a tricke? this Knave may finde it when I lost it, and conceale it till now to come over me withall. I will not trouble my thoughts with it further at this time, well Robin looke to your businesse, and have a care of my Guelding.

Yes Sir. I think I have netled him now, but not as I was netled last night, three hundred Miles a Night upon a Rawbon'd Divell, as in my heart it was a Divell, and then a VVench that shar'd more o' my backe then the sayd Divell did o' my Bum, this is ranke riding my Masters: but why had I such an itch to tell my Master of it, and that he should beleeve it; I doe now wish that I had not told, and that hee will not be­leeve it, for I dare not tell him the meanes: 'Sfoot my Wench and her friends the Fiends, will teare me to pieces if I discover her; a notable rogue, she's at the VVedding now, for as good a Mayd as the best o'em—O my Mistresse.

Robin.

I Mistresse.

Quickly good Robin, the gray Guelding.

VVhat other horse you please Mistresse.

And why not that?

Truly Mistresse pray pardon me, I must be plaine with you, I dare not deliver him you; my master has tane notice of the ill case you have brought him home in divers times.

O is it so, and must he be made acquainted with my actions by you, and must I then be controll'd by him, and now by you; you are a sawey Groome.

You may say your pleasure.

No sir, Ile doe my pleasure.

Aw.

VVas there ever such a medley of mirth, madnesse, and drunkennesse, shuffled together.

Thy Vnckle and Aunt, old Mr. Seely and his wife, doe nothing but kisse and play together like Monkeyes.

Yes, they doe over-love one another now.

And young Gregory and his sister doe as much over­doe their obedience now to their Parents.

And their Parents as much over-doat upon them, they are all as farre beyond their wits now in loving one another, as they were wide of them before in crossing.

Yet this is the better madnesse.

But the married couple that are both so daintily whit­led, that now they are both mad to be a bed before Supper­time, and by and by he will, and she wo' not; streight she will and he wo' not, the next minute they both forget they are mar­ried, and defie one another.

My [...]ides eene ake with laughter.

But the best sport of all is, the old Batchelour Master [Page] Doughty, that was so cautious, & feat'd every thing to be witeh­craft, is now wound up to such a confidence that there is no such thing, that hee dares the Divell do [...] his worst, and will not out o'the house by all persuasion, and all for the love of the husband­mans daughter within, Mal Spencer.

There I am in some danger, he put me into halfe a be­liefe I shall be his heire, pray love shee be not a witch to charme his love from mee. Of what condition is that wench do'st thou know her?

A little, but Whetstone knowes her better.

Hang him rogue, he'le belye her, and speak better than she deserves, for he's is love with her too. I saw old Doughty give him a box o'the eare for kissing her, and hee turnd about as he did by thee yesterday, and swore his Aunt should know it.

Who would ha'thought that impudent rogu [...] would have come among us after such a baffle.

He told me, hee had complain'd to his Aunt on us, and that she would speak with us.

Wee will all to her to patch vp the businesse, for the respect I beare her husband, noble Generous.

Here he comes.

Sir, what I know i'le keepe to my selfe, a good c [...]vile merry harmlesse ro [...]e she is, and comes to my Aunt often, and thats all I know by her.

You doe well to keepe it to your selfe sir.

And you may do well to question her if you dare. For the testy old coxcombe that will not let her goe out of his hand.

Take heed, he's at your heels.

My nose! Nothing sir.—

— Yet mee thought a flie toucht it. Did you see any thing?

No, no, yet I would almost ha'sworn, I would not have sprite or goblin blast thy face, for all their kingdome. But hangt there is no such thing: Fidlers will you play?

Gentlemen will you dance?

With all our hearts.

Hold a little then.

O Father twentie times a day is too little to aske you blessing.

Goe too you are a rascall: and you houswife teach your daughter better manners: i'le ship you all for new England els.

The knot's untied, and this is another change.

Yes I will teach her manners, or put her out to spin two penny tow: so you deare husband will but take mee into favor: i'le talke with you dame when the strangers are gone.

Deare Father.

Deare Mother.

Deare Father and Mother pardon us but this time.

Never, and therefore hold your peace.

Nay thats unreasonable.

Oh!—

But for your sake i'le forbeare them, and beare with any thing this day.

Doe you note this? Now they are all worse then e­ver they were, in a contrary vaine: What thinke you of Witch­craft now?

They are all naturall fooles man, I finde it now.

Art thou mad to dreame of Witchcraft?

He's as much chang'd and bewitcht as they I feare.

Hey day! Here comes the payre of boyld Lovers in Sorrell [...]ops.

Nay deare hunny, nay hunny, but eance, eance.

Na, na, I han' swarne, I han' swarne, not a bit afore bed, and look yeou it's but now dauncing time.

Come away Bridegroome, wee'll stay your stomack with a daunce. Now masters play a good: come my Lasse wee'l shew them how 'tis

Whether now, hoe?

Hey day! why you rogues.

What do's the Divell ride o' your Fiddlestickes.

You drunken rogues, hold, hold, I say, and begin againe soberly the beginning of the World

Ha, ha, ha, How's this?

Every one a severall tune

This is something towards it. I bad them play the be­ginning o' the World, and they play, I know not what.

No 'tis running o' the country severall waies.

But what do you thinke on't.

Thinke! I thinke they are drunke Prithee doe not thou thinke of Witchcraft; for my part, I shall as soone thinke this maid one, as that theres any in Lancashire.

Ha, ha ha.

Why do'st thou laugh?

To thinke this Bridegroome should once ha'bin mine, but he shall rue it, ile hold him this point on't, and thats all I care for him.

A witty Rogue.

I tell you sir, they say shee made a payle follow her t'other day up two payre of stayres.

You lying Rascall.

O sir forget your anger.

Looke you Mr. Bridegroome, what my care provides for you

What, a point?

Yes put it in your pocket it may stand you instead a­non, when all your points be tane away, to trusse up your trin­kits, I meane your slopes withall.

Mal for awd acquaintance I will ma'thy point a point of preferment. It shan bee the Foreman of a haell Iewrie o'points, and right here will I weare it.

Wy'a, wy'a, awd leove wo no be forgetten, but ay's ne­ver be jealous the mare for that.

Play fidlers any thing.

I, and lets see your faces, that you play fairely with us.

We do sir, as loud as we can possibly.

Play out that we may heare you.

So we do sir, as loud as we can possibly.

Doe you heare any thing?

Nothing not we sir.

Looke you sir, they'l save you a labour, they are doing it themselves.

Oh brave Fidlers, there was never better scuffling for the Tudberry Bu [...]t.

This is mother Iohnson and Gooddy Dickisons rogue­rie, I finde it but I cannot helpe it, yet I will have musicke: sir theres a Piper withour, would be glad to earne money.

She has spoke to purpose, & whether this were witch­craft or not: I have heard my Aunt say twentie times, that no Witchcraft can take hold of a Lancashire Bag-pipe, for it selfe is able to charme the Devell, ile fetch him.

Well said, a good boy nów; come bride and bride­groome, leave your kissing and fooling, and prepare to come in­to the daunce. Wee'le have a Horne-pipe, and then a posset and [Page] to bed when you please. Welcome Piper, blow till thy bagge cracke agen, a lusty Horne-pipe, and all into the daunce, nay young and old.

Bravely performd.

Stay, wheres my lasse?

Vanisht, she and the Piper both vanisht, no bodie knowes how.

Now do I plainly perceive again, here has bin nothing but witcherie all this day; [...]herfore into your posset, & agree a­mong your selves as you can, ile out o'the house. And Gentle­men, if you love me or your selves, follow me.

I, I, Away, away.

Now good son, wife, and daughter, let me intreat you be not angry.

O you are a trim mother are you not?

Indeed childe, ile do so no more.

Now sir, i'le talke with you, your champions are al gon.

Weell sir, and what wun yeou deow than?

Whay, whay, whats here to doe? Come awaw, and whickly, and see us into our Brayd Chember, & delicatly ludgd togeder, or wee'l whap you out o'dores ith morne to sijourne in the common, come away.

Wee follow yee.

KNow you this gingling bridle, if you see't agen? I wanted but a paire of gingling spurs to make you mend your pace, and put you into a sweat.

Yes, I have reason to know it after my [Page] hard journey, they say there be light women, but for your owne part, though you be merry. Yet I may be sorry for your heavi­nesse.

I see thou art not quite tyr'd by shaking of thy selfe, 'tis a signe that as thou hast brought mee hither, so thou art able to beare mee backe, and so you are like good Robert. You will not let me have your masters gelding, you will not. Wel fir, as you like this journey, so deny him to me hereafter.

You say well mistresse, you have jaded me (a pox take you for a jade.) Now I bethinke my selfe how damnably did I ride last night, and how divellishly have I bin rid now.

Doe you grumble you groome? Now the bridl's of, I turne thee to grazing gramercy my good horse, I have no bet­ter provender for thee at this time, thou hadst best like Aesops Asse to feed upon Thistles, of which this place will affoord thee plenty. I am bid to a better banquet, which done, ile take thee up from grasse, spur [...]utt, and [...]ake a short cutt home. Farewell.

A pox upon your tayle.

The Lady of the feast is come, welcome, welcome.

Is all the cheare that was prepared to grace the wed­ding feast, yet come?

My horse, my horse, ha, ha, ha.

Ha, ha, ha.

My horse, my horse, I would I were now some country Major, and in authority, to see if I would not venter to rowze your Satanicall sisterhood: Horse, horse, see thou be, & where [...] point thee, ca [...]y me: is that the trick on't? the divel himselfe shall be her carrier next if I can shun her: & yet my Mr. will not be­leeve theres any witches: theres no ru [...]ning away; for I neither know how nor whether, besides to my thinking, theres a deepe di [...]ch, & a hye quick-set about mee, how shall I passe the time? What place is this? it looks like an old barne: ile peep in at some cranny or other, and try if I can see what they are doing. Such a bevy of beldames did I never behold; and [...]. [Page] like so many Cormorants: Marry choke you with a mis­chiefe.

Whoope, whurre, heres a sturre, never a cat, never a curre, but that we must have this demurre.

A second course.

Ha, ha, ha.

'Tis come, 'tis come.

Where hath it all this while beene?

A pox take them, must only they feed upon hot meat, and I upon nothing but cold sallads

Ha, ha, ha.

Boy, theres meat for you.

Thanke you.

And drinke too.

What Beast was by thee hither rid?

A Badger nab.

Ha, ha, ha, upon the knave my man.

A murrein take you, I am sure my hoofes payd for't.

Meat lie there, for thou hast no taste, and drinke there, for thou hast no relish, for in neither of them is there either salt or savour.

Pull for the posset, pull.

The brides posset on my life, nay if they come to their spoone meat once, I hope theil breake up their feast presently.

We are obeyd.

And we hels ministers shall lend our aid.

Now whilest they are in their jollitie, and do not mind me, ile steale away, and shift for my selfe, though I lose my life for't.

But stay, wheres the Boy, looke out, if he e­scape us, we are all betrayed.

Where shall we next met?

At Mil [...] ▪

But when?

At Night.

To horse, to horse.

VVhere's my Mamilian.

And my Incubus.

My Tyger to bestri'd.

My Puggie.

My horse.

I pray Mistresse ride me as you would be rid.

That's at full speed,

Nay then Ile try Conclusions.

Yes sir, he's broad buttock'd and full flanck'd, he doth not bate an ace of his flesh.

When was he rid last?

Not sir since you backt him.

Who I sir, may I dye sir, if you finde me in a lye sir.

Then I shall finde him where I left him last.

No doubt Sir.

Give me the Key o'th Stable.

There Sir.

Well sir, finde what you can, him you shall finde, and what you finde else; it may befor that, instead of Gramercy horse, you may say Gramercy Robin; you will beleeve there are no Witches! had I not been late brideled, I coo'd have sayd more, but I hope she is ty'd to the racke that will confesse some­thing, and though not so much as I know, yet no more then I dare justifie—

Have you found your Gelding sir?

Yes, I have.

I hope not spurr'd, nor put into a sweat, you 'may see by his plump belly and fleeke legs he hath not bin sore travail'd.

I hope sir you find [...] none feeding there but your owne, if there be any you suspect, they have nothing to champeon, but the Bridle.

Sirrah, whose jade is that ty'd to the Racke?

The Mare you meane sir?

Yes, that old Mare.

Old doe you call her? You shall finde the marke still in her mouth, when the Bridle is out of it? I can assure you 'tis your owne Beast.

Ile not perswade you to any thing, you will beleeve nothing but what you see, I say the Beast is your owne, and you have most right to keepe her, shee hath cost you more the currying, then all the Combs in your Stable are worth. You have paid for her Provender this twentie yeares and upwards, and furnisht her with all the [...] that she hath worne, of my Knowledge, and because she hath been ridden hard the last Night, doe you renounce her now?

I am sure I [...]ound her no [...]ade the l [...]st time I rid her, she carried me the best part of a hundred Miles in lesse then a quar­ter of an houre.

The divell she did!

Yes so I say, [...]ither the d [...]ell or she did; an't please you [...] in and take off her [...], and then tell me who hath more right to her, you or [...].

I pray doe Sir, but take heed lest when the Bridle is out of her mouth, she put it not into yours; if she doe, you are a gone man: if she but say once▪ Horse, horse, see thou be. Be you rid (if you please) for me.

Sir.

You will beleeve no VVitches?

I am Robin, and this your wife, my Mrs.

A Bridle, [...] [...]ugling Bridle Sir.

Take heed Sir what you do, if you cast it hence, and she catch it up, we that are here now, may be rid as far as the Indies within these few houres, Mistresse down of your Mares bones, or your Mary-bones whether you please, and confesse your selfe to be what you are; and that's in plaine English a Witch, a grand notorius Witch.

A Witch! my wife a Witch!

So it appeares by the storie.

It cannot be deny'd, I am such a curst Creature.

Pardon sir.

I am.

O I have.

What? and how farre?

I have promis'd him my soule.

What chee [...]e sir, show your selfe a man, though she ap­pear'd so late a Beast; Mistresse confesse all, better here than in a worse place, out with it.

Resolve me, how farre doth that contract stretch?

I hope not so.

Why hast thou any hope?

Yes Sir I have.

Make it appeare to me.

I would see some of them.

May I presum't?

I kneele to both your Mercies.

Know'st thou what a VVitch is?

Sir they are.

I shall Sir, well now my Mistresse hath promis'd to give over her Witchery, I hope though I still continue her man, yet she will make me no more her journey-man; to prevent which the first thing I doe shall be to burne the Bridle, and then a­way with the Witch.

Sir you have done a right noble courtesie, which de­serves a memory, as long as the name of friendship can beare mention.

What I have done, I ha'done, if it be well, 'tis well, J doe not like the bouncing of good Offices, if the little care I have taken shall doe these poore people good, I have my end in't, and so my reward.

Now Gentlemen, you seeme very serious.

'Tis true we are so, but you are welcome to the know­ledge of our affayres.

How does thine Vncle and Aunt, Gregory and his si­ster, the Families of Seelyes agree yet, can you tell?

That is the businesse, the Seely houshold is divided now.

How so I pray?

[...]as poore folks, they are as farre to seeke of how they doe, or what they doe, or what they should doe, as any of the rest, they are all growne Ideots, and till some of these dam­nable jades, with their divellish devises bee found out, tod s­charme them, no remedy can be found, I mean to lay the Coun­try for their Hagships, and if J can anticipate the purpose, of their grand Mr. Divell to confound'em before their lease be out, be sure ile do 't▪

A Skimington, a Skimmington, a Skimington.

Whats the matter now, is Hell broke loose?

Tom Shakstone, how now, canst tell the newes?

The news, ye heare it up i'th aire, do you not?

A Skimington, a Skimington, a Skimington.

Hearke ye, do you not heare it? theres a Skimington, to­wards gentlemen.

Ware Wedlocke hoe.

At whose suit I prithee is Don Skimington come to towne.

Ile tell you gentlemen, since you have taken home old Seely and his wife to your house, and you their son and daugh­ter to [...]ours, the house-keepers Lawrence, and his late bride Parnell are fallen out by themselves.

How prithee?

The quarell began they say upon the wedding night, and in the bride bed.

For want of bedstaves?

No but a better implement it seemes the bridegroome was unprovided of, a homely tale to tell.

Now out upon her shee has a greedy worme in her, I have heard the fellow complain'd on, for an over mickle m [...]n a­mong the maids.

Is his haste to goe to bed at afternoone come to this now?

Witchery, witcher [...], more witcherie still flat and plaine witchery. Now do I thinke upon the codpeece point the young jade gave him at the wedding: shee is a witch, and th [...] was a charme, if there be any in the World.

A ligatory point.

Alas poore Lawrence.

He's comming to make his mone to you about it, and sh [...] too, since you have taken their masters & mistresses to your care, you must do them right too.

Marry but ile not undertake her at these yeares, if lusty Lawrence cannot do't.

But has she beaten him?

Grievously broke his head in I know not how many places: of which the hoydens have taken notice, and will have a Ski [...]mington on horse-backe presently. Looke ye, here comes both plaintiffe and defendant.

How now Lawrence, what has thy wedlock brought thee already to thy night-cap?

Yie gadwat sir, I ware wadded but aw to seun.

Han yeou reeson to complayne or ay trow yeou gaffer Downought? Wa warth the day that ever I wadded a Dow­nought.

Nay hold Parnel hold.

We have heard enough of your valour already, wec know you have beaten him, let that suffice.

Ware ever poore mayden betrayed as a [...] ware unto a swagbellied Carle that cannot aw waw that cannot.

What saies she?

I know not, she catterwawles I think. Parnel be patient good Parnell, and a little modest too, 'tis not amisse, wee know not the relifh of every eare that heares vs, lets talke within our selves. Whats the defect? Whats the impediment? Lawrence has had a lusty name among the Batch [...]llors.

What he ware when he ware a Batchelor, I know bet­ter than the best maid ith tawne. I wad I had not.

Peace Parnell.

'Tware that, that cossen'd me, he has not now as he had than?

Peace good Parnell.

For then he could, [...]nt now he connot, he connot.

Fie Parnel fie.

I say agean and agean, hee connot, he connot.

Alas poore [...]arnel.

I am not a bit the be [...]ter for him sin wye ware wad. Cries

Heres good stuff [...] for a jurie of women to passe upon.

He's out of a doing case it seemes.

Marry sir, and beat him will [...] into his grave, or backe to the Priest, and be unwaddded agone, for I wonot bee baund to lig with him and live with him the laife of an honest woman for aw the layves good i'Loncoshire.

An honest woman: thats a good mind Parnel What say you to this Lawrence?

Keepe her of o'me, and I shan teln [...]eou, and she be by I am no body: But keep her off and search me, let me be searcht as never witch was searcht, and finde ony thing mor or lasse upo me than a sufficient mon shold have, and let me be hon [...] by't.

Do you heare this Parnell?

Ah leear, leear, deell tacke the leear, troist yee and hong yee.

And so is she bewitcht too into this immodesty.

She would never talke so else

I prayn yeow gi' me the lere o'that Latine sir.

The meaning is, you must get halfe a dozen bastards Within this twelvemoneth, and that will mend your next ma­riage.

And I thought it would ma' Parnel, love me i'd be sure on't, and gang about it now right.

Y'are soone provided it seems for such a journey.

Best tarry till thy head be whole Lawrence.

Hear [...]e gentleme [...], the shew is comming.

What shall we stay & see't.

O by all means Gent.

'Tis best to have these away first.

Nay mary shan eou not sir, I heare yeou well e [...]ogh, & I con the meaning o'the show well enogh, & I stay not the show & see not the show, & [...]a'one i'the show, let me be honckt up for a show ile ware them to mel or ma with a woman that mels or mae's with a testril a longie, a dow little losell that connot, & if I skim not their skimingtons cockskeam for't, ma that warplin boggle me a week lonker, & thats a curse eno'for any wife I tro. [Page] from the boord, and yet for ought I can see I am never a whit the neerer What not one kisse at parting [...]?

Very good, I like this beginning well: for where they sleighted me before, they shall finde me a man of note.

Of this the meaning

Heer's a more privat roome gentlemen, free from the noise of the Hall. Here we may [...]alke, and throw the chamber out of the casements. Some wine and a short banquet.

So now leave us.

Yes, I thanke my A [...]nt; for though I be but a daily guest yet I can be w [...]lcome to her at midnight.

How shall we passe the time?

In some discourse.

But no such discourse as we had last, [...] ech you.

I thinke so too; but whats that amongst friends, for I would faine know which amongst you all knowes his owne fa­ther.

You are merrie with your friends, good master [...] ­Blow, and wee are guests here in your Vnckles house, and there­fore priviledged.

I presume you had no more priviledge in your getting than [...]. But tell me gentlemen, is there any man here amongst you, that hath a minde to see his father?

Why, who shall shew him?

Thats all one; if any man here desire it, let him but speake the word, and 'tis sufficient.

Why, I would see my father.

Strike.

Doe you know him that lookes so full in your face;

In his house, that goes for your father you would say: For know one morning, [...] your mothers husband rid early to have a Nisi prius tryed at Lancaster Syzes, hee crept into his warme place, lay close by her side, and then were you got. Then come, your heeles and tayle [...], and kneele [...] your own deare father.

Ha, ha, ha.

I am abused.

Why laugh you Gentlemen? It may be more mens cases than his or mine. Bant. To be thus [...].

Would either of you two now see his father in earnest

Yes, canst thou shew me mine?

[...].

Hee lookes on you speake, doe you know him?

Yes, he was my mothers Taylor, I remember him e­ver since I was a childe.

Who when hee came to take measure of her upper parts had more minde to the lower, whilest the good man was in the fields hunting, he was at home [...].

Ha, ha, ha

This cannot be indur'd.

Strike.

He points at you.

What then?

You know him.

Yes, Robin [...] groome belonging to this house.

And never served your father?

In's youth I thinke he did.

Who when your supposed father had businesse at the Lord Presidents Court in Yorke, stood for his Atturney at home, & so it seems you were got by deputy: what all a mort? if [Page] you will have but a little patience, stay & you shall see mine too:

[...]—

Now Gentlemen make me your President, learne your duties, and [...] I doe—A blessing Dad.

: Nay Gent. no [...] in [...] begun in [...], let's not end in [...]; you see [...] are more By-blowes than beare the [...]; It is growne a great kindred in the Kingdome. Come, come, all friends; Let's into the Cellar and conclude our Revels in a lusty health.

I faine would strike, but cannot.

Some strange fate holds me.

Now say what's next?

THou art a brave Boy, the honour of thy Coun try; thy Statue shall be set up in brasse upon the Market Crosse in Lancaster, I blesse the time that I answered at the [...] thee: [...]okes did I ever thin [...] that a Godson of min [...] should have [...]ought hand to fist with the Divell!

He was ever an unhappy Boy Sir, and like enough to grow acquainted with him; and friends may fall out sometimes.

Thou art a dogged Sire, and doestnot know the vertue of my Godsonne, my sonne now; he shall be thy sonne no longer: he and I will worry all the Witches in Lanca­shire.

You were best take heed though.

I care not, though we leave not above three untain­ted women in the Parish, we'll doe it.

Doe what you please Sir, there's the Boy stout enough to justifie any thing he has sayd. Now 'tis out, he should be my Sonne still by that: Though he was at Death's [...] before he would reveale any thing, [...] [...]nable jades had so threatned him, and as soone as ever he had told he men [...]ed.

'Tis well he did so, we will so swing them in two­penny halters Boy.

For my part I have no reason to hinder any thing that may root them all out; I have tasted enough of their mischiefe, witnesse my usage i' th Mill, which could be nothing but their Roguerie. One night in my sleepe they set me a stride stark na­ked a top of my Mill, a bitter cold night too; 'twas day light be­fore I w aked, and I durst never speake of it to this houre, because I thought it impossible to be beleeved.

Villanous H [...]gs

And all last Summer, my Wise could not make a bit of butter.

It would not come, [...] it?

No Sir, we could not make it come, though she and I both together, churn'd almost our [...] out, and nothing would come, but all ran into thin waterish geere: the Pigges would not drinke [...].

Is't possible▪

None but one, and he ran out of his wits upon't, till we bound his head, and layd him a sleepe, but he has had a wry mouth ever since.

That the Divell should put in their hearts to delight in such Villanies! I have sought [...] these two dayes, and he [...] of a [...], though none mor­tall, but could not finde whom to mistrust for a Witch till now this boy, this happy boy informes me.

And they should neere have been sought for me if their af­frightments and dive [...] devices, had not brought my Boy in­to such a sicknesse; VVhereupon indeed I thought good to ac­quaint your worship, and bring the Boy unto you being his Godfather, and as you now stick not to say his Father.

After you I thanke yo [...] Gossip. But my Boy thou ha [...] [...] fied me in their names, and thy knowledge of the wo­men, their turning into shapes, their dog-trickes, and their horse trickes, and their great Feast in the Barne (a pox take them with my Surloyne, I say still.) But a little more of thy combat with the Divell, I prithee; he came to thee like a Boy thou say­est, about thine owne bignesse?

Yes Sir, and he asked me where I dwelt, and what my name was.

Ah Rogue!

But it was in a quarrelsome way; VVhereupon I was as stout, and ask'd him who made him an examiner?

Ah good Boy.

In that he was my Sonne.

In that he was my sonne againe, ha boy; I see him at it now.

VVe fought a quarter of an houre, till his sharpe nailes made my eares bleed.

O the grand Divell pare 'em.

I wondred to finde him so strong in my hands, see­ming but of mine owne age and bignesse, till I looking downe, perceived he had clubb'd cloven feet like Oxe feet; but his face was as young as mine.

A pox, but by his feet, he may be the Club-footed Horse-coursers father, for all his young lookes.

But I was afraid of his feet, and ran from him towards a light that I saw, and when I came to it, it was one of the VVit­ches in white upon a Bridge, that scar'd me backe againe, and then met me the Boy againe, and he strucke me and layd mee for dead.

Till I wondring at his stay, went out and found him in the Trance; since which time, he has beene haunted and frigh­ted with Goblins, 40. times, and never durst tell any thing (as I sayd) because the Hags had so threatned him till in his sicknes he revealed it to his mother.

And she told no body but folkes on't. VVell Gossip Gretty, as thou art a Miller, and a close thiefe, now let us keepe it as close as we may till we take 'hem, and see them handsom­ly hanged o' the way: Ha my little Cu [...]e-divell, thou art a made man. Come, away with me.

Is Nab come?

Yes.

Where's Jug?

But where's Peg?

Entred the Mill already.

Is he fast?

As sencelesse as a Dormouse.

You have taught me silence.

Sir I shall.

But one thing more—

By your le [...]ve Sir.

Be patient I beseech you, what doe you meane Sir?

And you begot me? oh you us'd me finely last night?

Pray what's the matter Sir?

I doe this? I am a horse agen if I got you, Master, why Master.

Good Nephew leave me.

The Divell shall leave you ere ile forsake you, Aunt, you know, [...]ic is So, and being so sicke doe you thinke ile leave you, what know I but this Bed may prove your death-bed, and and then I hope you will remember me, that is, remember me in your Will.

Who's that knocks with such authority. Ten to one my Vncles come to towne.

If it be so, excuse my weaknes to him, say I can speake with none.

I will, and scape him if I can; by this accident all must come out, and here's no stay for me

Againe, stay you here with your Aunt, and ile goe let in your Vncle.

Doe good Mal, and how, and how sweet Aunt?

O Vncle you come in good time, my Aunt is so sud­dainly taken as if she were ready to give up the spirit.

My hand, 'tis there.

I pray excuse me.

Alas I have not strength to lift it up.

I am undone.

Hath my Aunt bin playing at handee dandee, nay then if the game goe this way I feare she'l have the worst han [...] on't.

Ile out o'the Country, and as soone live in Lapland as Lancashire hereafter.

What for a false illusive apparition? I hope the divell i [...] not able to perswade thee thou art a Bastard.

No, but I am afflicted to thinke that the divell should have power to put such a trick upon us, to countenance a Rascal, that is one.

J hope Arthur has taken a course with his Vnclc about him by this time, who would have thought such a foole as hee could have beene a Witch?

Why doe you thinke there's any wise folks of the qua­lity; Can any but fooles be drawne into a Covenant with the greatest enemy of mankind? yet J cannot thinke that VVhet­stone is the Witch? The young Queane that was at the Wed­ding was i'th house yee know.

See Lawrence and Parnell civilly accorded againe it seems, and accoutred as they were wont to be when they had their wits.

Blest be the houre I say may hunny, may sweet Pall, that Ay's becom'd thaine agone, and thou's becom'd maine a­gone, and may this ea kisse ma us tway become both eane for e­ver and a day.

Yie marry Lall, and thus shadden it be, there is nought getten by fawing out, we mun faw in or we get nought.

The world's well mended here; we cannot but re­joyce to see this, Lawrence.

And you been welcome to it Gentlemen.

And we been glad we han it for you.

And I protest I am glad to see it.

And thus shan yeou see't till our deeing houre.

Ween eon leove now for a laife time, the Dewle shonot ha the poore to put us to peeces agone.

Why now all's right and straight and as it should be.

Yie marry that is it, the good houre be blessed for it, that put the wit into may head, to have a mistrust of that pesti­lent Codpeece-point, that the witched worch Mal Spencer go [Page] me, ah woe worth her, that were it that made aw so nought.

Is't possible?

Yie marry it were an Inchauntment, and about an houre since it come intill our hearts to doe, what yeou thinke, and we did it.

What Parnell?

Marry we take the point, and we casten the point in­to the fire, and the point spitter'd and spatter'd in the fire, like an it were (love blesse us) a laive thing in the faire; and it hopet and skippet, and riggled, and frisket in the faire, and crept about laike a worme in the faire, that it were warke enough for us both with all the Chimney tooles to keepe it into the faire, and it stinket in the faire, worsen than ony brimstone in the faire.

This is wonderfull as all the rest.

It wolld ha scar'd ony that hadden their wits till a seen't, and we werne mad eoht it were deone.

And this were not above an houre sine, and you con­not devaise how we han lov'd t'on t'other by now, yeou woud [...]en blisse your seln to see't.

Yie an han pit on our working geere, to swinke and serve our Master and Maistresse like intill painfull servants a­gone, as we shudden.

'Tis wondrous well.

And are they well agen?

Yie and weel's laike heane blisse them, they are awas weel becom'd as none ill had ever beene aneast'hem; Lo ye, lo ye, as they come.

This sounds well.

Sir I have heard, that Witches apprehended under hands of lawfull authority, doe loose their power; And all their spels are instantly dissolv'd.

Enough Childe, thou art mine and all is well.

And cannot but rejoyce to see the remedy so nee [...]e at [...]and.

Come Gossip, come Boy—Gentlemen you are come to the bravest discovery—Mr. Seely and the rest, how is't with you? you look reasonable well me thinkes.

Sir, we doe find that we have reason enough to thank you for your Neighbourly and pious care of us.

Is all so well with you already? goe to, will you know a reason for't Gentlemen: I have catcht a whole Kennel of Witches. It seemes their Witch is one of 'hem, and so they are discharm'd, they are all in Officers hands, and they will touch here with two or three of them for a little private parley, be­fore they goe to the Iustices. Master Generous is comming hi­ther too, with a supply that you dreame not of, and your Ne­phew Arthur.

You are beholden Sir to Master Generous in behalfe of your Nephew for saving his land from forfeiture in time of your distraction.

I will acknowledge it most thankfully.

See he comes.

Good Mistresse Generous—

Make a full stop there Sir, sides, sides, make sides, You know her not as I doe, stand aloofe there Mistresse with your darling Witch, your Nephew too if you please, because though he be no witch, he is a wel-willer to the infernal science.

Well Sir, though you be no Vnckle, yet mine Aunt's mine Aunt, and shall be to her dying day.

And that will be about a day after next Sizes I take it,

O here comes more o'your Naunts, Naunt Dickenson & Naunt [Page] Hargrave, ods fish and your Granny Johnson too; we want but a good fire to entertaine 'em.

See how they lay their heads together?

No succour.

No reliefe.

No comfort!

Mawsy, my Mawsy, gentle Mawsy come,

Come my sweet Puckling.

My Mamilion.

What doe they say?

They call their Spirits I thinke.

Now a shame take you for a fardell offooles, have you knowne so many of the Divels tricks, and can be ignorant of that common feate of the old Iugler; that is, to leave you all to the Law, when you are once seized on by the tallons of Au­thority? Ile undertake this little Demigorgon Constable with these Common-wealth Characters upon his staffe here, is able inspite of all your bugs-words, to stave off the grand Divell for doing any of you good till you come to his Kingdome to him, and there take what you can finde.

But Gentlemen, shall we try if we can by examination get from them something that may abbreviate the cause unto the wiser in Commission for the peace before wee carry them before 'em.

Let it be so.

Well say, stand out Boy, stand out Miller, stand out Robin, stand out Soldier, and lay your accusation upon 'em.

Speake Boy doe you kno [...] these Creatures, women I dare not call 'em?

Yes Sir, and saw them all in the Barne together, and ma­ny more at their Feast and Witchery.

And so did I, by a Divellish token, I was rid thither, though I rid home againe as fast without switch or spur.

I was ill handled by them in the Mill.

And I sliced off a Cats foot there, that is since a hand, who ever wants it.

How I and all my family have suffered you all know.

And how I were betwitched my Pall. here knowes.

Yie Lall, and the Witch I knaw, an I prayen yeou goe [Page] me but leave to scrat her well-favorely.

Hold Parnell.

Yeou can blame no honest woman, I trow, to scrat for the thing she leoves.

Ha, ha, ha.

Doe [...]ou laugh Gentlewoman? what say you to all these matters?

And so say I.

And I.

And I, other confession you get none from us.

What say you Granny?

Mamilion, ho Mamilion, Mamilion.

Who's that you call?

My friend, my Sweet-heart, my Mamilion.

You are not mad?

Ah ha, that's her Divell, her Incubus I warrant; take her off from the rest they'l hurt her. Come hether poore old woman. Ile dandle a Witch a little, thou wilt speake, and tell the truth, and shalt have favour doubt not. Say art not thou a Witch?

'Tis folly to dissemble yie sir, I am one.

Yes Sir.

That's a good woman, how long hast had's acquain­tance, ha?

A matter of sixe yeares Sir.

A pretty matter. What was he like a man?

Yes when I pleas'd.

And then he lay with thee, did he not sometimes?

Tis folly to dissemble; twice a Weeke he never fail'd me.

Humh—and how? and how a little? was he a good Bedfellow?

Tis folly to speake worse of him than he is.

I trust me is't. Give the Divell his due.

He pleas'd me well Sir, like a proper man.

There was sweet coupling.

Onely his flesh felt cold.

He wanted his great fires about him that he has at home.

Peace, and did he weare good clothes?

Gentleman like, but blacke blacke points and all.

I, very like his points were blacke enough. But come we'l trifle w'yee no longer. Now shall you all to the Iustices, and let them take order with you till the Sizes, and then let Law take his course, and Uivat Rex. Mr. Generous I am sorry for your cause of sorrow, we shall not have your company?

Mal, adiew sweet Mal, ride your next journey with the company you have there.

Well Rogue I may live to ride in a Coach before I come to the Gallowes yet.

And Mrs. the horse that stayes for you rides better with a Halter than your gingling bridle.

Mr. Seely I rejoyce for your families attonement.

And I praise heaven for you that were the means to it.

On afore Drovers with your untoward Cattell.

Well Sir, mine Aunt's mine Aunt, and for that trick I will not leave her till I see her doe a worse.

Y'are a kinde Kinsman.