And the monk, too--there's mettle in
him. I took him for a canting carpet-haunter; but be sure, the man
who will bully his own patrons has an honest purpose in him, though
it bears strange fruit on this wicked hither-side of the grave.
Now, my fair nymph of the birchen-tree, use your interest to find me
supper and lodging; for your elegant squires of the trencher look
surly on me here: I am the prophet who has no honour in his own
country. [Exeunt.]
SCENE VI
Dawn. A rocky path leading to a mountain Chapel. A Peasant sitting
on a stone with dog and cross-bow.
Peasant [singing].
Over the wild moor, in reddest dawn of morning,
Gaily the huntsman down green droves must roam:
Over the wild moor, in grayest wane of evening,
Weary the huntsman comes wandering home;
Home, home,
If he has one. Who comes here?
[A Woodcutter enters with a laden ass.]
What art going about?
Woodcutter. To warm other folks' backs.
Peas. Thou art in the common lot--Jack earns and Gill spends--
therein lies the true division of labour. What's thy name?
Woodc. Be'est a keeper, man, or a charmer, that dost so catechise
me?
Peas.
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