Franklin. And, sirrah, as we go, let us have some more
of your bold yeomanry.
Ferryman. Nay, by my troth, sir, but flat knavery.
[Exeunt.
IV. ii. 5. This mist is not in Holinshed. It is our poet’s invention.
IV. ii. 30. Cf. Midsummer Night’s Dream, V. i. 237, etc.
SCENE III
Another place on the coast.
Here enters Will at one door, and Shakebag at another.
Shakebag. Oh, Will, where art thou?
Will. Here, Shakebag, almost in hell’s mouth, where I
cannot see my way for smoke.