SUM. I credit thee, and think thou wert belied.
But tell me, hast thou a good crop this year?
HAR. Hay, good[75] plenty, which was so sweet
and so good, that when I jerted my whip, and said
to my horses but _hay_, they would go as they were
mad.
SUM. But _hay_ alone thou sayst not, but _hay-ree_[76].
HAR. I sing hay-ree, that is, hay and rye; meaning that they shall have
hay and rye, their bellyfuls, if they will draw hard. So we say, _Wa
hay_, when they go out of the way; meaning that they shall want hay if
they will not do as they should do.
SUM. How thrive thy oats, thy barley, and thy wheat?
HAR. My oats grow like a cup of beer that makes the brewer rich; my rye
like a cavalier, that wears a huge feather in his cap, but hath no
courage in his heart; hath[77] a long stalk, a goodly husk, but nothing
so great a kernel as it was wont. My barley, even as many a novice, is
cross-bitten,[78] as soon as ever he peeps out of the shell, so was it
frost-bitten in the blad, yet pick'd up his crumbs again afterward, and
bad "Fill pot, hostess," in spite of a dear year. As for my peas and my
vetches, they are famous, and not to be spoken of.
AUT. Ay, ay, such country-button'd caps as you
Do want no fetches[79] to undo great towns.
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