Classic Poem

[Enter three Smiths, Hodge and two other, old Cromwell's
men.]


HODGE.
Come, masters, I think it be past five a clock; is it not
time we were at work: my old Master he'll be stirring
anon.

FIRST SMITH.
I cannot tell whether my old master will be stirring or
no: but I am sure I can hardly take my afternoon's nap,
for my young Master Thomas, he keeps such a quile in
his study, with the Sun, and the Moon, and the seven
stars, that I do verily think he'll read out his wife.

HODGE.
He skill of the stars! there's good-man Car of Fulhum,
he that carried us to the strong Ale, where goody
Trundell had her maid got with child: O he knows the
stars. He'll tickle you Charles Waine in nine degrees.
That same man will tell you goody Trundell when her
Ale shall miscarry, only by the stars.

SECOND SMITH.
Aye, that's a great virtue; indeed I think Thomas be no
body in comparison to him.

FIRST SMITH.
Well, masters, come, shall we to our hammers?

HODGE.
Aye, content; first let's take our morning's draught, and
then to work roundly.

SECOND SMITH.
Aye, agreed; go in, Hodge.

[Exit omnes.]