Page.

Come, come; we'll couch i' the castle-ditch, till we see the light of our fairies.—Remember, son Slender, my daughter.

Slen.

Ay, forsooth; I have spoke with her, and we have a nay-word^{7 note} how to know one another. I come to her in white, and cry, mum; she cries, budget; and by that we know one another.

Shal.

That's good too; But what needs either your mum, or her budget? the white will decipher her well enough.—It hath struck ten o'clock.

Page.

The night is dark; light and spirits will become it well. Heaven prosper our sport!^{8 note}

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