There was three fools fell out about an howlet:
The one said it was an owl,
The other he said nay,
The third he said it was a hawk,
And her bells were cut away.
THIRD COUNTRYMAN.
There’s a dainty mad woman, Master,
Comes i’ th’ nick, as mad as a March hare.
If we can get her dance, we are made again;
I warrant her, she’ll do the rarest gambols.
FIRST COUNTRYMAN.
A madwoman? We are made, boys.
SCHOOLMASTER.
And are you mad, good woman?
DAUGHTER.
I would be sorry else.
Give me your hand.
SCHOOLMASTER.
Why?
DAUGHTER.
I can tell your fortune.
You are a fool. Tell ten. I have posed him. Buzz!
Friend, you must eat no white bread; if you do,
Your teeth will bleed extremely. Shall we dance, ho?
I know you, you’re a tinker; sirrah tinker,
Stop no more holes but what you should.
SCHOOLMASTER.
Dii boni! A tinker, damsel?
DAUGHTER.
Or a conjurer.
Raise me a devil now, and let him play
Qui passa o’ th’ bells and bones.
SCHOOLMASTER.
Go, take her,
And fluently persuade her to a peace.
Et opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis—
Strike up, and lead her in.