angry women of Abington.
For a whore she was sure, if you had her here
So late, now you are sir Raphe Smith,
Well do ye counterfeit and change your voyce,
But yet I know ye, but what should be that Francis?
Belike that Francis cussend him of his wench,
And he conceals himselfe to finde her out,
Tis so vpon my life, well I will go
And helpe him ring his peale of so ho, soho,
So late, now you are sir Raphe Smith,
Well do ye counterfeit and change your voyce,
But yet I know ye, but what should be that Francis?
Belike that Francis cussend him of his wench,
And he conceals himselfe to finde her out,
Tis so vpon my life, well I will go
And helpe him ring his peale of so ho, soho,
Enter Franke.
Fra. A plague on Coomes, a plague vpon the boy,
A plague too, not on my mother for an hundreth bound,
Twas time to runne, and yet I had not thought
My mother could haue followed me so close,
Her legges with age I thought had foundered,
She made me quite runne through a quickset hedge,
Or she had taken me: well I may say,
I haue runne through the briers for a wenche,
And yet I haue her not, the woorse lucke mine,
Me thought I heard one hollow here about,
I iudge it Philip, O the slaue will laugh
When as he heares how that my mother scarde me,
Well, heere Ile stand vntill I heare him hollow,
And then Ile answere him, he is not farre.
A plague too, not on my mother for an hundreth bound,
Twas time to runne, and yet I had not thought
My mother could haue followed me so close,
Her legges with age I thought had foundered,
She made me quite runne through a quickset hedge,
Or she had taken me: well I may say,
I haue runne through the briers for a wenche,
And yet I haue her not, the woorse lucke mine,
Me thought I heard one hollow here about,
I iudge it Philip, O the slaue will laugh
When as he heares how that my mother scarde me,
Well, heere Ile stand vntill I heare him hollow,
And then Ile answere him, he is not farre.
Ra. my man is hollowing for me vp and downe,
And yet I cannot meet with him, so ho:
And yet I cannot meet with him, so ho:
Franke. So ho.
Ra. Why what a poxe wert thou so neere me man,
And would not speake?
And would not speake?
Fra. Sbloud ye are very hot.
Rap. No sir, I am colde enough with staying here
For such a knaue as you.
For such a knaue as you.
Fra. Knaue, how now Phillip, art mad, art mad?
Ra. Why art not thou my man.
That went to fetch my bowe,
That went to fetch my bowe,
Fra. Indeed a bowe,
Might shoote me ten bowes downe the weather so,
I your man.
Might shoote me ten bowes downe the weather so,
I your man.
Ra. What art thou then?
Hollow within Phillip and Will.
Fran. A man, but whats thy name?
Rap. Some call me Raph.
Franke.
