Music playing within, enter ASTER OBERON, King of Fairies; and Antics, who dance about a tomb placed conveniently on the stage; out of the which suddenly starts up, as they dance, BOHAN, a Scot, attired like a ridstall* man, from whom the Antics fly. OBERON manet.

Boh. Ay say, what's thou?

Ober. Thy friend, Bohan.

Boh. What wot I or reck I that? Whay, guid man, I reck no friend nor ay reck no foe; als ene to me. Git thee ganging, and trouble not may whayet, or ays gar‡ thee recon me nene of thay friend, by the Mary mass, sall I.

Ober. Why, angry Scot,§ I visit thee for love; then what moves thee to wrath?

Boh. The deil a whit reck I thy love; for I know too well that true love took her flight twenty winter sence to heaven, whither till ay can, weel I wot, ay sal ne'er find love: an thou lovest me, leave me to myself. But what were those puppets that hopped and skipped about me year whayle? ||

Ober. My subjects.

Boh. Thay subjects! whay, art thou a king? Ober. I am.

Boh. The deil thou art! whay, thou lookest not so big as the King of Clubs, nor so sharp as the King of Spades, nor so fain as the King o' Daymonds: be the mass, ay take thee to be the king of false hearts; therefore I rid¶ thee away, or ayse so curry your kingdom that you's be glad to run to save your life.

*ridstall] A mis-spelling, if not a corruption. may whayet] i. e., I suppose, my quiet.

ays gar] i. e. I'll make. (Bohan, the reader will observe, sometimes says "Ay" and sometimes "I": nor in several other words does he always adhere to the Scottish dialect.)

§ Why, angry Scot, &c.] Walker (Shakespeare's Versification, &c., p. 167) would make this speech verse,

Ober. Why, stoical Scot,* do what thou darest to me here is my breast, strike.

Boh. Thou wilt not threap me,† this whinyard has gard many better men to lope than thou? [Tries to draw his sword.] But how now! Gos sayds, what, will't not out? Whay, thou witch, thou deil! Gad's fute, may whinyard!

Ober. Why, pull, man: but what an 'twere out, how then?

Boh. This, then,-thou weart best be gone first; for ay'l so lop thy limbs that thou's go with half a knave's carcass to the deil.

Ober. Draw it out: now strike, fool, canst thou not?

Boh. Bread ay gad, what deil is in me? Whay, tell me, thou skipjack, what art thou?

Ober. Nay, first tell me what thou wast from thy birth, what thou hast passed hitherto, why thou dwellest in a tomb and leavest the world? and then I will release thee of these bonds; before, not.

Boh. And not before ! then needs must, needs sall. I was born a gentleman of the best blood in all Scotland, except the king. When time brought me to age, and death took my parents, I became a courtier; where, though ay list not praise myself, ay engraved the memory of Bohan‡ on the skin-coat of some of them, and revelled with the proudest.

Ober. But why, living in such reputation, didst thou leave to be a courtier ?

Boh. Because my pride was vanity, my expense loss, my reward fair words and large promises,

* Why, stoical Scot, &c.] Here again Walker (ubi supra) would arrange as verse

"Why, stoical Scot, do what thou dar'st to me:
Here is my breast, strike."

threap me, &c.] i. e. obstinately contradict me, that this sword has made many better men to leap, &c. Bohan] Here the 4to. "Boughon."