And to this day they tell that Lady Marye cast the wine into a suckler’s mouth and never did she drink!
“By all the saints! Do thee go and search!”
Thus spake her sire, Sir John. And all the long night thro’ the torches gleamed, but all in vain. And they do say that Sirrah John did shake him in a chilling and flee him to a friar, while still the search did last.
(In Timon’s Cot.)
(Leta) “Timon, waken ye! Our Leta still doth court her dreams and I do weary me. The long night thro’ the feasters cried them thro’ the hills and none but Him could shield our Tina from their din.
“Take heart, my lad, I fear me yet to look within the crib. Hold thou my hand, man. Nay, not yet! Come, waken Leta that she then do feed thy lambs.”
(Timon) “Come, Leta, wake! The sun hath tipped the crown o’ yonder hill and spread a blush adown her snow-white side.”
(Leta) “Yea, sire. And Tina, how be she?”
(Timon) “A fairy, sleeping, Tad.”
(Leta) “Ah, sire, but I did dream the dark o’ yesterday away. And, mother, she doth strain unto the sun! I see her eyes be-glistened. See, the frost-cart dumped beside our door, and look ye! he, the Frost man, put a cap upon the chimney pot. I’ll fetch a brush and fan away his cloak. My Christ-gift, it would be my Tina’s smile. She did know me not at late o’ night; think ye it were the dark? Stay, sire! I’ll cast the straw and put the sheep aright!” (Exit.)