“See, these spots o’ yellowed tears—the rusting of her heart away! Stay, Jana, I’ll teach thee a trick o’ tripping, for she full oft did say a heart could hide aneath a tripping.
“Thee shouldst curtsey so; and spread thy fan. ’Tis such a shield to hide ahind. Then shouldst thy heart to flutter, trip out its measure, so. See, I do laugh me now—nay, ’tis ne’er a tear, Jana, ’tis the mist o’ loving! Doth see the moon hath joined the dance? Or, am I swooning? ’Tis fancy. See, the cotter’s taper still doth flicker from the shutter. What’s then amiss? The stranger, Jana! See! He entereth the shelter place! Come, I fear me lest I see too much? Lend me thy hand. I’ve played the jane-o-apes till the earth doth seem awry.
“Hear ye the wine-soaked song, and aye, the feed-drunkened? My sire, Jana, my sire! I do grow hateful of myself, but mark ye, at the setting o’ the feast I do wage him war at words! A porridge pot doth brew for babes; I promise ye a full loaf. Do drop the curtain now, I weary me with reasoning.”
(Morning at the Castle Gate.)
(Tito) “Aho, within! Thine eyes begummed and this the Christ-eve and mornin’ come? Scatter! Petro, stand ahand! I do fetch ye sucklings agagged with apples red. Ye gad, my mouth doth slime! To whiff a hungerfull would make the sages wag.”
(Petro) “Amorrow, Tito. Thee’lt wear thee white as our own Lady long afore ye e’en canst dip thy finger in the drip.”
(Tito) “Pst! Petro, I did steal the brain and tung. Canst leave me have a peep now to the hall? Jesu! What a breeder o’ sore bellies. I’d pay my price to heaven to rub Sir John a briskish rub with mullien o’er the back.
“They do tell me down below that trouble bideth Timon. His Tina layeth dull and Leta doth little but mumble prayer.”
(Petro) “Tito, thee art a chanter of sad lays at this Christ-time. Go thou to the turret and play ye at the pipes. Put thee the sucklings to the kitchen, aside the fire dogs there. And Tito, thee’lt find a pudding pan ahind the brushbox. Go thee and lick it there!”
(To Sir John) “Aye, I do come, my lord. ’Tis but the sucklers come. I know not where in the castle she doth bide, but hark ye and ye’ll surely hear the pipes.”