d well, thou art so blithe.

HAR. Sped well or ill, sir, I drink to you on the same.
Is your throat clear to help us sing, _Hooky, hooky?

[Here they all sing after him.

Hooky, hooky, we have shorn,
And we have bound;
And we have brought Harvest
Home to town_.

AUT. Thou Corydon, why answer'st not direct?

HAR. Answer? why, friend, I am no tapster, to say, Anon, anon, sir:[68]
but leave you to molest me, goodman tawny-leaves, for fear (as the
proverb says, leave is light) so I mow off all your leaves with my
scythe.

WIN. Mock not and mow[69] not too long; you were best not,[70]
For fear we whet your scythe upon your pate.

SUM. Since thou art so perverse in answering,
Harvest, hear what complaints are brought to me.
Thou art accused by the public voice
For an engrosser of the common store;
A carl that hast no conscience nor remorse,
But dost impoverish the fruitful earth,
To make thy garners rise up to the heavens.
To whom giv'st thou? who feedeth at thy board?
No alms, but [an] unreasonable gain
Digests what thy huge iron teeth devour:
Small beer, coarse bread, the hind's and beggar's cry,
Whilst thou withholdest both the malt and flour,
And giv'st us bran and water (fit for dogs).

HAR. Hooky, hooky! if you were not my lord, I would say you lie. First
and foremost, you say I am a grocer. A grocer is a citizen: I am no
citizen, therefore no grocer. A hoarder up of grain: that's false; for
not so much for my elbows eat wheat every time I lean upon them.[71] A
carl: that is as much as to say, a coneycatcher of good fellowship. For
that one word you shall pledge me a carouse: eat a spoonful of the curd
to allay your choler. My mates and fellows, sing no more _Merry, merry_,
but weep out a lamentable _Hooky, hooky_, and let your sickles cry--

_Sick, sick, and very sick,
And side, and for the time;
For Harvest your master is
Abusd without reason or rhyme_.

I have no conscience, I? I'll come nearer to you, and yet I am no scab,
nor no louse. Can you make proof wherever I sold away my conscience, or
pawned it? Do you know who would buy it, or lend any money upon it? I
think I have given you the pose. Blow your nose, Master Constable. But
to say that I impoverish the earth, that I rob the man in the moon, that
I take a purse on the top of St Paul's steeple; by this straw and thread,
I swear you are no gentleman, no proper man, no honest man,