angry women of Abington.
La. I but the stoutest of you all thats here,
Would run from death, and nimbly scud for feare,
Now by my troth I pittie those poore elfes.
Would run from death, and nimbly scud for feare,
Now by my troth I pittie those poore elfes.
Ra. Well, they haue made vs but bad sport to day.
La. Yes twas my sport to see them scape away.
Will. I wish that I had beene at one Bucks fall.
La. Out thou wood-tyrant thou art worst of all.
Wil.. A woodman Ladie, but no tyrant I.
La. Yes tyrant-like thou louest to see liues dye.
Ra. Lady no more, I do not like this lucke,
To hunt all day and yet not kill a Buck,
Well, it is late, but yet I sweare I will
Stay heere all night, but I a Buck will kill.
To hunt all day and yet not kill a Buck,
Well, it is late, but yet I sweare I will
Stay heere all night, but I a Buck will kill.
La. All night, nay good sir Raph Smith do not so.
Ra. Content ye Ladie, Will, go fetch my bow,
A berrie of faire Roes I saw to day,
Downe by the groues, and there ile take my stand,
And shoote at one, God send a luckie hand.
A berrie of faire Roes I saw to day,
Downe by the groues, and there ile take my stand,
And shoote at one, God send a luckie hand.
La. Will ye not then sir Raph go home with me?
Ra. No, but my men shall beare thee company.
Sirs man her home, Will bid the Huntmen couple,
And bid them well reward their hounds to night.
Ladie farewell, Will hast ye with the Bow,
Ile stay for thee heere by the groue below.
Sirs man her home, Will bid the Huntmen couple,
And bid them well reward their hounds to night.
Ladie farewell, Will hast ye with the Bow,
Ile stay for thee heere by the groue below.
Wil. I will, but twill be darke I shall not see,
How shal I see ye then?
How shal I see ye then?
Ra. Why hollo to me, and I wil answer thee.
Wil. Enough, I wil.
Exit.Raph. Farewel.
La. How willingly doost thou consent to go,
To fetch thy maister that same killing bow.
To fetch thy maister that same killing bow.
Wil. Guiltie of death I willing am in this,
Because twas our ill haps to day to misse,
To hunt and not to kill is hunters sorrow,
Exeunt.Come Ladie, weel haue venson ere tomorrow.
Because twas our ill haps to day to misse,
To hunt and not to kill is hunters sorrow,
Exeunt.Come Ladie, weel haue venson ere tomorrow.
Enter Philip and Franke.
Phil. Come Franke now are we hard by the house,
But how now, sad?
But how now, sad?
Fran. No, to studie how to woe thy sister.
Phil. How man, how to woe her? why no matter how,
I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe,
I am sure thou wilt not be ashamed to woe,
Thy
