What, Robin, you must come away and walk the horses.

'Snails, what hast thou got there, a book? Why thou

can'st not tell ne'er a word on't.

That's like 'faith. You had best leave your foolery,

for, an my master come, he'll conjure you 'faith.

Thou need'st not do that, for my mistress hath done it.

A plague take you! I thought you did not sneak

up and down after her for nothing. But I prithee tell me, in

good sadness Robin, is that a conjuring book?

O brave, prithee let's to it presently, for I am as

dry as a dog.