Peas. The Princess! Ay, I thought those little white feet were but
lately out of broadcloth--still, I say, a mighty sweet voice--I wish
she had not sung so sweetly--it makes things to arise in a body's
head, does that singing: a wonderful handsome lady! a royal lady!
Woodc. But a most unwise one. Did ye mind the gold? If I had such
a trencherful, it should sleep warm in a stocking, instead of being
made a brother to owls here, for every rogue to snatch at.
Peas. Why, then? who dare harm such as her, man?
Woodc. Nay, nay, none of us, we are poor folks, we fear God and the
king. But if she had met a gentleman now--heaven help her! Ah!
thou hast lost a chance--thou might'st have run out promiscuously,
and down on thy knees, and begged thy pardon for the newcomer's
sake. There was a chance, indeed.
Peas. Pooh, man, I have done nothing but lose chances all my days.
I fell into the fire the day I was christened, and ever since I am
like a fresh-trimmed fir-tree; every foul feather sticks to me.
Woodc. Go, shrive thyself, and the priest will scrub off thy
turpentine with a new haircloth; and now, good-day, the maids are a-
waiting for their firewood.
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