Sir John. Grass and hay! we are all mortal; who's there?
Sex. We are grass and hay indeed: I know you to be master parson by your phrase.
Priest. Sexton!
Sex. Ay, sir.
Priest. For mortality's sake, what's the matter?
Sex. O Lord, I am a man of another element; Master Theophilus's ghost is in the church-porch. There was an hundred cats, all fire, dancing even now, and they are clomb up to the top of the steeple; I'll not into the belfry for a world.
Priest. O goodman Solomon, I have been about a deed of darkness to-night: O Lord! I saw fifteen spirits in the forest like white bulls; if I lie, I am an arrant thief: mortality haunts us—grass and hay! the devil's at our heels, and let's hence to the parsonage. [Exeunt.
The Miller comes out very softly.
Miller. What noise was that? 'tis the watch; sure, that villanous unlucky rogue Smug is ta'en; upon my life, and then all our knavery comes out! I heard one cry, sure.