WILL CRICKET.
Look on me, and look of Master Churms, a good, proper man. Marry, Master
Churms has something a better pair of legs indeed, but for a sweet face,
a fine beard, comely corpse, and a carousing codpiece.
All England, if it can,
Show me such a man,
To win a wench, by Gis,
To clip, to coll, to kiss,
As William Cricket is.
Why, look you now: if I had been such a great, long, large, lobcocked, loselled lurden, as Master Churms is, I'll warrant you, I should never have got Peg as long as I had lived, for, do you mark, a wench will never love a man that has all his substance in his legs. But stay: here comes my landlord; I must go salute him.
Enter old PLOD-ALL and his son PETER.
PLOD-ALL. Come hither, Peter. When didst thou see Robin Goodfellow? He's the man must do the fact.
PETER PLOD-ALL. Faith, father, I see him not this two days, but I'll seek him out, for I know he'll do the deed, and she were twenty Leilas. For, father, he's a very cunning man for give him but ten groats, and he'll give me a powder that will make Lelia come to bed to me, and when I have her there, I'll use her well enough.
PLOD-ALL.
Will he so? Marry, I will give him vorty shillings, if he can do it.
PETER PLOD-ALL. Nay, he'll do more than that too, for he'll make himself like a devil, and fray the scholar that hankers about her out on's wits.
PLOD-ALL. Marry, Jesus bless us! will he so? Marry, thou shalt have vorty shillings to give him, and thy mother shall bestow a hard cheese on him beside.
WILL CRICKET.
Landlord, a pox on you, this good morn!