Rasni. Ay, what of that?
Adam. Truly, sir, I have an oration to tell you of one of them; and this it is.
Alvi. Why goest not forward with thy tale?
Adam. Faith, mistress, I feel an imperfection in my voice, a disease that often troubles me; but, alas, easily mended; a cup of ale or a cup of wine will serve the turn.
Alvi. Fill him a bowl, and let him want no drink.
Adam. O, what a precious word was that, "And let him want no drink!" [Drink given to Adam.] Well, sir, now I'll tell you forth my tale. Sir, as I was coming alongst the port-royal of Nineveh, there appeared to me a great devil, and as hard-favoured a devil as ever I saw; nay, sir, he was a cuckoldly devil, for he had horns on his head. This devil, mark you now, presseth upon me, and, sir, indeed, I charged him with my pike-staff; but when that would not serve, I came upon him with Spritus santus,—why, it had been able to have put Lucifer out of his wits: when I saw my charm would not serve, I was in such a perplexity, that sixpenny-worth of juniper would not have made the place sweet again.
Alvi. Why, fellow, wert thou so afraid?
Adam. O, mistress, had you been there and seen, his very sight had made you shift a clean smock! I promise you, though I were a man, and counted a tall fellow, yet my laundress called me slovenly knave the next day.
Rasni. A pleasant slave.—Forward, sirrah, on with thy tale.