Enter After Oberõ, King of Fayries, an Antique, who dance about
a Tombe, plac’st conueniently on the Stage, out of the which, suddainly
starts vp as they daunce, Bohan a Scot, attyred like a ridstall
man, from whom the Antique flyes. Oberon Manet.
Bohan.
Ay say, whats thou?
Bohan. What wot I, or reck
I that, whay guid man, I reck
no friend, nor ay reck no foe, als 10
ene to me, git the ganging, and
trouble not may whayet, or ays
gar the recon me nene of thay friend, by the mary masse sall I.
Ober. Why angrie Scot, I visit thee for loue: then what
mooues thee to wroath?
Bohan. The deele awhit reck I thy loue. For I knowe
too well, that true loue tooke her flight twentie winter sence to
heauen, whither till ay can, weele I wot, ay sal nere finde loue:
an thou lou’st me, leaue me to my selfe. But what were those
Puppits that hopt and skipt about me year whayle? 20
Oberon. My subiects.
Boh. Thay subiects, whay art thou a King?
Ober. I am.