I would there were no age between ten and three-and-twenty,
or that youth would sleep out the rest; for there is nothing in the between but getting wenches with child, wronging the ancientry, stealing, fighting—
Hark you now! Would any but these boil’d-brains of nineteen and two-and-twenty hunt this weather? They have scar’d away two of my best sheep, which I fear the wolf will sooner find than the master. If any where I have them, ’tis by the sea-side, browsing of ivy. Good luck, and’t be thy will! What have we here? Mercy on ’s, a barne? A very pretty barne! A boy, or a child, I wonder? A pretty one, a very pretty one: sure some scape. Though I am not bookish, yet I can read waiting-gentlewoman in the scape. This has been some stair-work, some trunk-work, some behind-door-work. They were warmer that got this than the poor thing is here. I’ll take it up for pity, yet I’ll tarry till my son come; he hallow’d but even now. Whoa-ho-hoa!