y, why, which, gu, gu, gu, gu, Gods fool
She was bo-bo-bo-bo-born at the barn yonder,
By-be-be-be-be-Beggars Bush-bo-bo-Bush
Her name is, My-my-my-my-my-match: so was her Mo-mo-mo-Mothers too-too.

_Hub._ I understand no word he says; how long
Has she been here?

_Snap._ Lo-lo-long enough to be ni-ni-nigled, and she ha' go-go-go-good
luck.

_Hub._ I must be better inform'd, than by this way.
Here was another face too, that I mark'd
Of the old mans: but they are vanish'd all
Most suddenly: I will come here again,
O, that I were so happy, as to find it,
What I yet hope: it is put on.

_Hem._ What mean you Sir,
To stay there with that stammerer?

_Hub._ Farewell friend,--
It will be worth return, to search: Come,
Protect us our disguise now, pre'thee _Hemskirk_
If we be taken, how do'st thou imagine
This town will use us, that hath stood so long
Out against _Wolfort_?

_Hem._ Ev'n to hang us forth
Upon their walls a sunning, to make Crows meat,
If I were not assur'd o' the _Burgomaster_,
And had a pretty excuse to see a niece there,
I should scarce venture.

_Hub._ Come 'tis now too late
To look back at the ports: good luck, and enter. [_Exeunt._

SCENA II.

_Enter_ Goswin.

_Gos._ Still blow'st thou there? and from all other parts,
Do all my agents sleep, that nothing comes?
There's a conspiracy of windes, and servants,
If not of Elements, to ha' me break;
What should I think unless the Seas, and Sands
Had swallow'd up my ships? or fire had spoil'd
My ware-houses? or death devour'd my Factors?
I must ha' had some returns.

_Enter_ Merchants.

_1 Mer._ 'Save you Sir.

_Gos._ 'Save you.

_1 Mer._ No news yet o' your Ships?

_Gos._ Not any yet Sir.

_1 Mer._ 'Tis strange. [_Exit._

_Gos._ 'Tis true Sir: what a voyce was here now?
This was one passing bell, a thousand ravens
Sung in that man now, to presage my ruins.

_2 Mer._ _Goswin_, good day, these winds are very constant.

_Gos._ They are so Sir; to hurt--

_2 Mer._ Ha' you had no letters
Lately from _England_, nor from _Denmark_?

_Gos._ Neither.

_2 Mer._ This wind brings them; nor no news over land,
Through _Spain_, from the _Straights_?

_Gos._ Not any.

_2 Mer._ I am sorry Sir. [_Exit._

_Gos._ They talk me down: and as 'tis said of Vulturs
They scent a field fought, and do smell the carkasses
By many hundred miles: So do these, my wracks
At greater distances. Why, thy will Heaven
Co