Night. Yes, and agreed for his basket of pears; he is at the corner here, ready. And your prize, he comes down sailing that way all alone, without his protector; he is rid of him, it seems.
Edg. Ay, I know; I should have followed his protectorship, for a feat I am to do upon him: but this offered itself so in the way, I could not let scape: here he comes, whistle; be this sport call’d Dorring the Dotterel.
Re-enter COKES.
Night. Wh, wh, wh, wh, etc.
[Whistles.
Cokes. By this light, I cannot find my gingerbread wife, nor my hobby-horse man, in all the Fair now, to have my money again: and I do not know the way out on’t, to go home for more. Do you hear, friend, you that whistle? what tune is that you whistle?
Night. A new tune I am practising, sir.
Cokes. Dost thou know where I dwell, I pray thee? nay, on with thy tune; I have no such haste for an answer: I’ll practise with thee.
Enter COSTARD-MONGER, with a basket of Pears.