wilt but please to stay a little while, thou shalt see a pretty art, which thou never saw before, to teach you how to know your sweetheart. This is a pretty art indeed, and I should be glad to know it.
Hark! hark! Daughter, is not yonder the cuckoo singing? Yes, yes, and I have not heard her sing this year before now. Then, Daughter, sit down by me, but hold, Are you fasting? Yes. But has no man kissed you? No. Then sit thee down by me. I think the cuckoo is mad, what a life she leads; I think she is a witch; but no matter; put off thy right shoe and stocking, and let me look between thy great toe and the next: Now, Daughter, see, this hair is a long one; look well at it, and tell me what colour it is. I think it is really yellow. The same colour will thy husband's hair be. But, Mother Bunch, I do not matter the colour so much as the condition. I will tell you his condition: he may prove surly enough, and perhaps make you do as you did not imagine: you must give him good words, and give him one good turn for another; but as to this, thou must keep it to thyself; it is an ill bird that beshits its own nest; kiss and tell is foul play. Mother Bunch, you make me smile, you talk so merrily. Come, Daughter, it is no great matter; merry talk does no harm, but drives the time away; but as for the deed doing. I leave that to yourself. But hark! Daughter, I have had three husbands myself, and I think to have another; and do you think I am so mad to tell him all I do? Then, my Daughter, I have another way to tell you who must be your husband; I have proved it true; and it is the best time of the year to try it, therefore, observe what I say: Take a St. Thomas' onion, pare it, and lay it on a clean handkerchief under your pillow; put on a clean smock; and as you lie down, lay your arms abroad, and say these words:
