Fal.

Prithee no more pratling; go, I'll hold. This is the third time; I hope good Luck lyes in odd Numbers; away, go, they say there is Divinity in odd Numbers, either in Nativity, Chance or Death; away.

Quic.

I'll provide you a Chain, and I'll do what I can to get you a Pair of Horns.

Fal.

Away, I say, time wears; hold up your Head, and mince.

How now, Mr. Broom? Mr. Broom, the Matter will be known to Night, or never. Be you in the Park about Mid-Night, at Herne's Oak, and you shall see Wonders.

Ford.

Went you not to her Yesterday, Sir, as you told me you had appointed?

Fal.

I went to her, Master Broom, as you see, like a poor old Man; but I came from her, Master Broom, like a poor old Woman. That same Knave, Ford her Husband, hath the finest mad Devil of Jealousie in him, Master Broom, that ever govern'd Frenzy. I will tell you, he beat me grievously, in the shape of a Woman; for in the shape of a Man, Master Broom, I fear not Goliah with a Weaver's Beam, because I know also Life is a Shuttle. I am in haste, go along with me, I'll tell you all, Master Broom. Since I pluckt Geese, play'd Truant, and whipt Top, I knew not what 'twas to be beaten, 'till lately. Follow me, I'll tell you strange things of this Knave Ford, on whom to Night I will be reveng'd, and I will deliver his Wife into your Hand. Follow, strange things in hand, Master Broom, follow.