And then at home here, or wheresoever he comes, our father is so pensive ( what muddy spirit soe'er possesses him, would I could conjure't out) that he makes us even sick of his sadness, that were wont to see my gossip's cock to day, 'mould cocklebread, daunce clutterdepouch and hannykin booby, binde barrels, or do any thing before him, and he would laugh at us.