Worship, have the wise woman of Brentfort secured--Master Abram may have
been conjured--Peter Simple says, a' never look'd up, after a' sent to
the wise woman--Marry, a' was always given to look down afore his
elders; a' might do it, a' was given to it--your Worship knows it; but
then 'twas peak and pert with him--a' was a man again, marry, in the
turn of his heel.--A' died, your Worship, just about one, at the crow of
the cock.--I thought how it was with him; for a' talk'd as quick, aye,
marry, as glib as your Worship; and a' smiled, and look'd at his own
nose, and call'd "Sweet Ann Page." I ask'd him if a' would eat--so a'
bad us commend him to his Cousin Robert (a' never call'd your Worship so
before) and bade us get hot meat, for a' would not say nay to Ann
again.[*]--But a' never liv'd to touch it--a' began all in a moment to
sing "Lovers all, a Madrigal." 'Twas the only song Master Abram ever
learnt out of book, and clean by heart, your Worship--and so a' sung,
and smiled, and look'd askew at his own nose, and sung, and sung on,
till his breath waxed shorter, and shorter, and shorter, and a' fell
into a struggle and died. I beseech your Worship to think he was well
tended--I look'd to him, your Worship, late and soon, and crept at his
heel all day long, an it had been any fallow dog--but I thought a' could
never live, for a' did so sing, and then a' never drank with it--I knew
'twas a bad sign--yea, a' sung, your Worship, marry, without drinking a
drop.

[Footnote: Vide "Merry Wives of Windsor." Latter part of the 1st Scene,
1st Act.]]




LETTER 13