ALL
Ay, as you live, tell, tell—
PHILIP
Mad fellows, you shall have it.
The Widow's bell rang lustily and loud—
BUTLER
I think that no one can mistake her ringing.
WAITING-MAID
Our Lady's ring is soft sweet music to it,
More of entreaty hath it than command.
PHILIP
I lose my story, if you interrupt me thus.
The bell, I say, rang fiercely; and a voice,
More shrill than bell, call'd out for "Coachman Philip."
I straight obey'd, as 'tis my name and office.
"Drive me," quoth she, "to the next market town,
Where I have hope of letters." I made haste.
Put to the horses, saw her safely coach'd,
And drove her—
WAITING-MAID
—By the straight high-road to Andover,
I guess—
PHILIP
Pray, warrant things within your knowledge,
Good Mistress Abigail; look to your dressings,
And leave the skill in horses to the coachman.
BUTLER
He'll have his humour; best not interrupt him.
PHILIP
'Tis market-day, thought I; and the poor beasts,
Meeting such droves of cattle and of people,
May take a fright; so down the lane I trundled,
Where Goodman Dobson's crazy mare was founder'd,
And where the flints were biggest, and ruts widest,
By ups and downs, and such bone-cracking motions,
We flounder'd on a furlong, till my madam,
In policy, to save the few joints left her,
Betook her to her feet, and there we parted.
ALL
Ha! ha! ha!