Clowne. Mounsieur Cobweb, good Mounsier get your
weapons in your hand, & kill me a red hipt humble-Bee,
on the top of a thistle; and good Mounsieur bring mee
the hony bag. Doe not fret your selfe too much in the
action, Mounsieur; and good mounsieur haue a care the
hony bag breake not, I would be loth to haue you ouerflowne
with a hony-bag signiour. Where's Mounsieur
Mustardseed?
Mus. Ready
Clo. Giue me your neafe, Mounsieur Mustardseed.
Pray you leaue your courtesie good Mounsieur
Mus. What's your will?
Clo. Nothing good Mounsieur, but to help Caualery
Cobweb to scratch. I must to the Barbers Mounsieur, for
me-thinkes I am maruellous hairy about the face. And I
am such a tender asse, if my haire do but tickle me, I must
scratch
Tita. What, wilt thou heare some musicke, my sweet
loue
Clow. I haue a reasonable good eare in musicke. Let
vs haue the tongs and the bones.
Musicke Tongs, Rurall Musicke.