Arden. Oh, ferryman, where art thou?
Here enters the Ferryman.
Ferryman. Here, here, go before to the boat, and I will
follow you.
Arden. We have great haste; I pray thee, come away.
Ferryman. Fie, what a mist is here!
Arden. This mist, my friend, is mystical,
Like to a good companion’s smoky brain,
That was half drowned with new ale overnight.
Ferryman. ’Twere pity but his skull were opened to
make more chimney room. 10
Franklin. Friend, what’s thy opinion of this mist?
Ferryman. I think ’tis like to a curst wife in a little
house, that never leaves her husband till she have
driven him out at doors with a wet pair of eyes;
then looks he as if his house were a-fire, or some of
his friends dead.
Arden. Speaks thou this of thine own experience?