Or she had taken me. Well, I may say,
I have runne through the briers for a wenche;
And yet I have her not,—the woorse lucke mine.
Me thought I heard one hollow here about; 55
I judge it Philip: O, the slave will laugh
When as he heares how that my mother scarde me!
Well, heere Ile stand untill I heare him hollow,
And then Ile answere him; he is not farre.
[Enter Sir Raph Smith.]
Ra. My man is hollowing for me up and downe, 60