ROBIN. Keep out, keep out, or else you are blown up, you are
dismembered, Ralph: keep out, for I am about a roaring piece
of work.
RALPH. Come, what doest thou with that same book? thou canst
not read?
ROBIN. Yes, my master and mistress shall find that I can read,
he for his forehead, she for her private study; she's born to
bear with me, or else my art fails.
RALPH. Why, Robin, what book is that?
ROBIN. What book! why, the most intolerable book for conjuring
that e'er was invented by any brimstone devil.
RALPH. Canst thou conjure with it?
ROBIN. I can do all these things easily with it; first, I can
make thee drunk with ippocras at any tabern in Europe
for nothing; that's one of my conjuring works.
RALPH. Our Master Parson says that's nothing.
ROBIN. True, Ralph: and more, Ralph, if thou hast any mind to
Nan Spit, our kitchen-maid, then turn her and wind her to thy own
use, as often as thou wilt, and at midnight.
RALPH. O, brave, Robin! shall I have Nan Spit, and to mine own
use? On that condition I'll feed thy devil with horse-bread as
long as he lives, of free cost.
ROBIN. No more, sweet Ralph: let's go and make clean our boots,
which lie foul upon our hands, and then to our conjuring in the
devil's name.
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