Hop. Our’s will be more to-night.
Hec. Oh, ‘twill be precious. Heard you the owl yet?
Stad. Briefly, in the copse,
As we came thro’ now.
Hec. ’Tis high time for us then.
Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times
As we came thro’ the woods, and drank her fill:
Old Puckle saw her.
Hec. You are fortunate still,
The very scritch-owl lights upon your shoulder,