Fire. They are all going a birding to-night. They talk of fowls i’ th’ air, that fly by day, I’m sure they’ll be a company of foul sluts there to-night. If we have not mortality affeared, I’ll be hang’d, for they are able to putrify it, to infect a whole region. She spies me now.
Hec. What, Firestone, our sweet son?
Fire. A little sweeter than some of you; or a dunghill were too good for me.
Hec. How much hast there?
Fire. Nineteen, and all brave plump ones; besides six lizards, and three serpentine eggs.
Hec. Dear and sweet boy! What herbs hast thou?
Fire. I have some mar-martin, and man-dragon.
Hec. Marmarittin, and mandragora, thou would’st say.
Fire. Here’s pannax, too. I thank thee; my pan akes, I am sure, with kneeling down to cut ’em.
Hec. And selago,