ACT III, SCENE I.
Moth. Harrow,[176] alas! I swelt[177] here as I go;
Brenning[178] in fire of little Cupido.
I no where hoart yfeel but on mine head.
Huh, huh, huh, so; ycapred very wele.
I am thine leek, thou Chaucer eloquent;
Mine head is white, but, O, mine taile is green.
This is the palyes, where mine lady wendeth.
Saint Francis[179] and Saint Benedight,
Blesse this house from wicked wight;
From the night-mare and the goblin,
That is hight Good-fellow Robin;
Keep it from all evil spirits,
Fairies, weazels, rats, and ferrets:
From curfew-time
To the next prime.
Come forth, mine duck, mine bride, mine honeycomb;
Come forth, mine cinnamon.
Enter Mistress Potluck.
Pot. Who is't that calls?
Moth. A knight most gent.
Pot. What is your pleasure, sir?
Moth. Thou art mine pleasure, by dame Venus brent;
So fresh thou art, and therewith so lycand.[180]
Pot. Alas! I am not any flickering thing:
I cannot boast of that slight-fading gift
You men call beauty; all my handsomeness
Is my good-breeding and my honesty.
I could plant red where you now yellow see;
But painting shows an harlot.
Moth. Harlot! so
Called from one Harlotha, concubine
To deignous[181] Wilhelm, hight the Conqueror.
Pot. Were he ten Williams and ten conquerors,
I'd have him know't, I scorn to be his harlot.
I never yet did take press-money to
Serve under any one.