SHO. Now, benedicite! who is this?
I take him for some fiend, i-wis;[477]
O, for some holy-water here
Of this same place this spirit to clear!
ROB. Nay, fear not, Grim, come fall unto your cream:
Tut, I am thy friend; why dost not come and eat?
GRIM. I, sir? truly, master devil, I am well here, I thank you.
ROB. I'll have thee come, I say. Why, tremblest thou?
GRIM. No, sir, not I; 'tis a palsy I have still. Truly, sir, I have no great acquaintance with you.
ROB. Thou shalt have better, man, ere I depart.
GRIM. I will not, and if I can choose.
ROB. Nay, come away, and bring your love with you.
GRIM. Joan! you were best go to him, Joan.
ROB. What, shall I fetch thee, man? The cream is sweet.