Rod. When they’ve mustered, we shall both get peppered, we are in a stew.
Is’t meet that we should wait, or shall we fly?
Ber. I would I were a bird!
Rod. And so do I.
But, see, your father comes—his passion’s at a pitch,
And he is followed by the rivals; and the witch—
Ber. Which it is. O! goodness, what will now become of me?
I’ll climb—but no, they’ll think I’m “up a tree.”
They come. Down, Roderigo; down upon your knees.
Rod. It’s not an easy place, but anything to please.