_Now._ I shall go to William Baker of Walton; To Richard Bollman of Gayton; I shall spare Master Wood of Fulbourn: He is a _noli-me-tangere_!
_Nought._ I shall go to William Patrick of Massingham; I shall spare Master Allington of Bottisham, And Hammond of Swaftham, For dread of _In manus tuas queck_. Fellows, come forth! and go we hence together!
_New G._ Sith we shall go, let us see well where and whither; If we may be take, we come no more hither; Let us con well our neck-verse that we have not a check.
_Titi._ Go your way--a devil way--go your way, all! I bless you with my left hand: foul you befall! Come again, I warn, as soon as I you call, A[nd] bring your advantage into this place!
To speak with Mankind I will tarry here this tide, And assay his good purpose for to set aside; The good man, Mercy, shall no longer be his guide: I shall make him to dance another trace! Ever I go invisible--it is my jet-- And before his eye, thus, I will hang my net To blench his sight; I hope to have his foot met. To irk him of his labour I shall make a frame: This board shall be hid under the earth, privily; His spade shall enter, I hope, unreadily. By then he hath assayed he shall be very angry, And lose his patience, pain of shame! I shall menge his corn with drawk and with darnel; It shall not be like to sow nor to sell-- Yonder he cometh: I pray of counsell; He shall ween grace were wane.
_Man._ Now, God, of His mercy, send us of His sonde! I have brought seed here to sow with my lond; While I over-delve it, here it shall stond. _In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus sancti!_ now I will begin. This land is so hard, it maketh unlusty and irk; I shall sow my corn at winter, and let God work. Alas! my corn is lost; here is a foul work! I see well, by tilling, little shall I win; Here I give up my spade, for now and for ever.
[_Here_ TITIVILLUS _goes out with the spade_.
To occupy my body, I will not put me in dever; I will hear my evensong here or I dissever. This place I assign as for my kirk; Here, in my kirk, I kneel on my knees: _Pater noster, qui es in celis_--
_Titi._ I promise you I have no lead on my heels; I am here again to make this fellow irk. Whist! peace! I shall go to his ear and tittle therein--