Scene Tenth. A Grove in the Fields between the Cunny Greene and the Forest

[Enter Philip.]

Phi. How like a beauteous lady, maskt in blacke
Lookes that same large circumference of heaven!
The skie, that was so faire three houres agoe,
Is in three houres become an Ethiope;
And being angrie at her beauteous change,
She will not have one of those pearled starres
To blab her sable metamorphesis:
Tis very darke. I did appoint my sister
To meete me at the cunny berrie below,
And Francis too; but neither can I see.
Belike my mother hapned on that place,
And fraide them from it, and they both are now
Wandring about the fields: how shall I finde them?
It is so darke, I scarce can see my hand:
Why, then, Ile hollow for them—no, not so;
So will his voice betray him to our mothers
And if he answere, and bring them where he is.
What shall I, then, do? it must not be so—
Sbloud, it must be so; how else, I pray?
Shall I stand gaping heere all night till day,
And then nere the neere?—So ho, so ho!

[Enter Will.]

Wil. So ho! I come: where are ye? where art thou? here!

Phi. How now, Franke, where hast thou been?

Wil. Franke! what Franke? sbloud, is sir Raph mad? [Aside].— Heeres the bow.

Phi. I have not been much private with that voice:
Me thinke Franke Goursey talke and his doth tell me
I am mistaken; especially by his bow;
Franke had no bow. Well, I will leave this fellow,
And hollow somewhat farther in the fields. [Aside].—
Doost thou heare, fellow? I perceive by thee
That we are both mistaken: I tooke thee
For one thou art not; likewise thou tookst me
For sir Raph Smith, but sure I am not he:
And so, farewell; I must go seeke my friend.—
So ho!

[Exit.]

Wil. So ho, so ho! nay, then, sir Raph, so whoore!
For a whore she was sure, if you had her here
So late. Now, you are sir Raphe Smith;
Well do ye counterfeit and change your voyce,
But yet I know ye. But what should be that Francis?
Belike that Francis cussend him of his wench,
And he conceals himselfe to finde her out;
Tis so, upon my life. Well, I will go
And helpe him ring his peale of so ho, so ho!

[Exit.]

Enter Franke.

Fra. A plague on Coomes! a plague upon the boy!
A plague too—not on my mother for an hundreth pound!
Twas time to runne; and yet I had not thought
My mother could have followed me so close,
Her legges with age I thought had foundered;
She made me quite runne through a quickset hedge,
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;
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,
And yet I cannot meet with him.—So ho!

Frank. So ho!

Ra. Why, what, a poxe, wert thou so neere me, man,
And wouldst not speake?

Fra. Sbloud, ye are very hot.

Rap. No, sir, I am colde enough with staying here
For such a knave as you.

Fra. Knave! how now, Phillip?
Art mad, art mad?

Ra. Why, art not thou my man
That went to fetch my bowe.

Fra. Indeed, a bowe
Might shoote me ten bowes downe the weather so:
I your man!

Ra. What art thou, then?

Fran. A man: but whats thy name?

Rap. Some call me Raph.

Franke. Then, honest Raph, farewell.

Ra. Well said, familiar Will! plaine Raph, i faith.

[Hollow within Phillip and Will.]

Fran. There calles my man.

Ra. But there goes mine away;
And yet Ile heare what this next call will say, [Goes out toward the fields.]
And here Ile tarrie till he call againe.

[Enter Will.]

Wil. So ho!

Fran. So ho! where art thou, Phillip?

Wil. Sbloud, Philip!
But now he calde me Francis: this is fine. [Aside.]

Fran. Why studiest thou? I prethy, tell me, Philip,
Where the wench is.

Wil. Even now he askt me Francis for the wench,
And now he asks me Phillip for the wench. [Aside]—
Well, sir Raph, I must needes tell ye now,
Tis not for your credit to be foorth
So late a wenching in this order.

Fran. Whats this? so late a wenching, doth he say? [Aside].—
Indeed, tis true I am thus late a wenching,
But I am forc'st to wench without a wench.

Wil. Why, then, you might have tane your bow at first,
And gone and kilde a bucke, and not have been
So long a drabbing, and be nere the neere.

Fran. Swounds, what a pussell am I in this night!
But yet Ile put this fellow farther [off] [Aside].—
Doost thou heare, man? I am not sir Raph Smith,
As thou doost thinke I am; but I did meete him,
Even as thou saiest, in pursuite of a wench.
I met the wench to, and she askt for thee,
Saying twas thou that wert her love, her deare,
And that sir Raph was not an honest knight
To traine her thether, and to use her so.

Wil. Sbloud, my wench! swounds, were he ten sir Raphs—

Fran. Nay, tis true, looke to it; and so, farewell.

Exit.

Wil. Indeed, I do love Nan, our darie maide:
And hath he traine[d] her forth to that intent,
Or for another? I carrie his crossebow,
And he doth crosse me, shooting in my bow.
What shall I do?

[Exit.]