As do the bristles of a porcupine.

[Enter Coreb, a Spirit.]

COREB.
Fabell, awake, or I will bear thee hence
Headlong to hell.

FABELL.
Ha, ha,
Why dost thou wake me? Coreb, is it thou?

COREB.
Tis I.

FABELL.
I know thee well: I hear the watchful dogs
With hollow howling tell of thy approach;
The lights burn dim, affrighted with thy presence;
And this distemperd and tempestuous night
Tells me the air is troubled with some Devill.

COREB.
Come, art thou ready?

FABELL.
Whither? or to what?

COREB.
Why, Scholler, this the hour my date expires;