Har. O! do not give over.—Let me do something for you—Let me thread your needle for you—I can thread one most nobly.
Ag. There then. (Gives him a needle and silk.)
Har. (Pretending to scratch her hand with it.) So ought you to be punished. (Threads it awkwardly.)
Ag. Ay, nobly done, indeed! but I shall work no more to-day.
Har. You must work up my needleful.
Ag. I am to work a fool's cap in the corner by-and-by, I shall keep your needleful for that. I am going to walk in the garden.
Har. And so am I.
Ag. You are?
Har. Yes, I am. Go where you will, Agnes, to the garden or the field, the city or the desert, by sea or by land, I must e'en go too. I will never be where you are not, but when to be where you are is impossible.
Ag. O! there will be no getting rid of you at this rate, unless some witch will have pity upon me, and carry me up in the air upon her broomstick.
Har. There, I will not pretend to follow you, but as long as you remain upon the earth, Agnes, hang me! if I can find in my heart to budge an inch from your side.
Ag. You are a madman.
Har. You are a sorceress.
Ag. You are an idler.
Har. You are a little mouse.
