Dor. 'Bless ye:
Now run for thy life, and get before him,
Take the by-way, and tell my Cousin Mary
In what shape he intends to come to cozen her;
I'll follow at thy heels my self, fly Wench.
Maid. I'll do it. [Exit.
Enter Sebastian, and Thomas.
Dor. My Father has met him; this goes excellent,
And I'll away in time; look to your Skin, Thomas. [Exit.
Seb. What, are you grown so corn fed, Goody Gillian,
You will not know your Father? what vagaries
Have you in hand? what out-leaps, durty heels,
That at these hours of night ye must be gadding,
And through the Orchard take your private passage?
What, is the breeze in your Breech? or has your Brother
Appointed you an hour of meditation
How to demean himself; get ye to bed, drab,
Or I'll so crab your Shoulders; ye demure Slut,
Ye civil dish of sliced Beef, get ye in.
Thom. I wi' not, that I wi' not.
Seb. Is't ev'n so, Dame?
Have at ye with a night Spell then.
Thom. 'Pray hold, Sir.
Seb. St. George, St. George, our Ladies Knight,
He walks by day, so does he by night,
And when he had her found,
He her beat, and her bound,
Until to him her troth she plight,
She would not stir from him that night.
Thom. Then have at ye with a Counter Spell,
From Elves, Hobs, and Fayries, that trouble our Dayries,
From Fire-Drakes and Fiends, and such as the Devil sends,
Defend us good Heaven. [Exit.