For now no longer we can stay.

_She catches him up, and turning round._

_Boy._ Help, help.

_Exit._"

* * * * *

"_Rob._ What place is this? it looks like an old barne: ile peep in at
some cranny or other, and try if I can see what they are doing. Such a
bevy of beldames did I never behold; and cramming like so many
Cormorants: Marry choke you with a mischiefe.

_Gooddy Dickison._ Whoope, whurre, heres a sturre,
Never a cat, never a curre,
But that we must have this demurre.

_Mal._ A second course.

_Mrs. Gen._ Pull, and pull hard
For all that hath lately him prepar'd
For the great wedding feast.

_Mall._ As chiefe
Of Doughtyes Surloine of rost Beefe.

_All._ Ha, ha, ha.