The Scornful Lady by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
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Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher >> The Scornful Lady
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_Sav._ Good Sir forgive me, and but hear me speak?
_Elder Lo._ Me thinks thou shouldst be drunk still, and not speak, 'tis
the more pardonable.
_Sav._ I will Sir, if you will have it so.
_Elder Lo._ I thank ye: yes, e'ne pursue it Sir: do you hear? get a Whore
soon for your recreation: go look out Captain _Broken-breech_ your fellow,
and Quarrel if you dare: I shall deliver these Keys to one shall have more
honesty, though not so much fine wit Sir. You may walk and gather
_Cresses_ fit to cool your Liver; there's something for you to begin a
Diet, you'l have the Pox else. Speed you well, Sir _Savil_: you may eat at
my house to preserve life; but keep no Fornication in the Stables.
[_Ex. om. pr._ Savil.
_Sav._ Now must I hang my self, my friends will look for't.
Eating and sleeping, I do despise you both now:
I will run mad first, and if that get not pitty,
I'le drown my self, to a most dismal ditty. [_Exit_ Savil.
_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Abigal _sola._
_Abigal._ Alas poor Gentlewoman, to what a misery hath Age brought thee:
to what a scurvy Fortune! Thou that hast been a Companion for Noblemen,
and at the worst of those times for Gentlemen: now like a broken
Servingman, must beg for favour to those, that would have crawl'd like
Pilgrims to my Chamber but for an Apparition of me. You that be coming on,
make much of fifteen, and so till five and twenty: use your time with
reverence, that your profits may arise: it will not tarry with you, _Ecce
signum_: here was a face, but time that like a surfeit eats our youth,
plague of his iron teeth, and draw 'em for't, has been a little bolder
here than welcome: and now to say the truth, I am fit for no man. Old men
i'th' house of fifty, call me Granum; and when they are drunk, e'ne then,
when _Jone_ and my Lady are all one, not one will do me reason. My little
Levite hath forsaken me, his silver sound of Cittern quite abolish[t],
[h]is doleful _hymns_ under my Chamber window, digested into tedious
learning: well fool, you leapt a Haddock when you left him: he's a clean
man, and a good edifier, and twenty nobles is his state _de claro_,
besides his pigs in _posse_. To this good _Homilist_ I have been ever
stubborn, which God forgive me for, and mend my manners: and Love, if ever
thou hadst care of forty, of such a piece of lape ground, hear my prayer,
and fire his zeal so far forth that my faults in this renued impression of
my love may shew corrected to our gentle reader.
_Enter_ Roger.
See how negligently he passes by me: with what an Equipage Canonical, as
though he had broken the heart of _Bellarmine_, or added something to the
singing Brethren. 'Tis scorn, I know it, and deserve it, Mr. _Roger_.
_Rog._ Fair Gentlewoman, my name is _Roger_.
_Abig_. Then gentle _Roger_?
_Rog_. Ungentle _Abigal_.
_Abig_. Why M'r _Roger_ will you set your wit to a weak womans?
_Rog_. You are weak indeed: for so the Poet sings.
_Abig_. I do confess my weakness, sweet Sir _Roger_.
_Rog_. Good my Ladies Gentlewoman, or my good Ladies Gentlewoman (this
trope is lost to you now) leave your prating, you have a season of your
first mother in ye: and surely had the Devil been in love, he had been
abused too: go _Dalilah_, you make men fools, and wear Fig-breeches.
_Abi_. Well, well, hard hearted man; dilate upon the weak infirmities of
women: these are fit texts, but once there was a time, would I had never
seen those eyes, those eyes, those orient eyes.
_Rog_. I they were pearls once with you.
_Abi_. Saving your reverence Sir, so they are still.
_Rog_. Nay, nay, I do beseech you leave your cogging, what they are, they
are, they serve me without Spectacles I thank 'em.
_Abig_. O will you kill me?
_Rog_. I do not think I can,
Y'are like a Copy-hold with nine lives in't.
_Abig_. You were wont to bear a Christian fear about you:
For your own worships sake.
_Rog_. I was a Christian fool then: Do you remember what a dance you led
me? how I grew qualm'd in love, and was a dunce? could expound but once a
quarter, and then was out too: and then out of the stinking stir you put
me in, I prayed for my own issue. You do remember all this?
_Abig_. O be as then you were!
_Rog_. I thank you for it, surely I will be wiser _Abigal_: and as the
Ethnick Poet sings, I will not lose my oyl and labour too. Y'are for the
worshipfull I take it _Abigal_.
_Abig_. O take it so, and then I am for thee!
_Rog_. I like these tears well, and this humbling also, they are Symptomes
of contrition. If I should fall into my fit again, would you not shake me
into a quotidian Coxcombe? Would you not use me scurvily again, and give
me possets with purging Confets in't? I tell thee Gentlewoman, thou hast
been harder to me, than a long pedigree.
_Abig_. O Curate cure me: I will love thee better, dearer, longer: I will
do any thing, betray the secrets of the main house-hold to thy
reformation. My Ladie shall look lovingly on thy learning, and when true
time shall point thee for a Parson, I will convert thy egges to penny
custards, and thy tith goose shall graze and multiply.
_Rog_. I am mollified, as well shall testifie this faithfull kiss, and
have a great care Mistris _Abigal_ how you depress the Spirit any more
with your rebukes and mocks: for certainly the edge of such a follie cuts
it self.
_Abigal_. O Sir, you have pierc'd me thorow. Here I vow a recantation to
those malicious faults I ever did against you. Never more will I despise
your learning, never more pin cards and cony tails upon your Cassock,
never again reproach your reverend nightcap, and call it by the mangie
name of murrin, never your reverend person more, and say, you look like
one of _Baals_ Priests in a hanging, never again when you say grace laugh
at you, nor put you out at prayers: never cramp you more, nor when you
ride, get Sope and Thistles for you. No my _Roger_, these faults shall be
corrected and amended, as by the tenour of my tears appears.
_Rog_. Now cannot I hold if I should be hang'd, I must crie too. Come to
thine own beloved, and do even what thou wilt with me sweet, sweet
_Abigal_. I am thine own for ever: here's my hand, when _Roger_ proves a
recreant, hang him i'th' Bel-ropes.
_Enter_ Lady, _and_ Martha.
_Lady_. Why how now Master _Roger_, no prayers down with you to night? Did
you hear the bell ring? You are courting: your flock shall fat well for
it.
_Rog_. I humbly ask your pardon: I'le clap up Prayers, but stay a little,
and be with you again. [_Exit_ Roger.
_Enter_ Elder Love.
_Lady_. How dare you, being so unworthie a fellow,
Presume to come to move me any more?
_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha.
_Lady_. What ails the fellow?
_Elder Lo_. The fellow comes to laugh at you, I tell you Ladie I would not
for your Land, be such a Coxcomb, such a whining Ass, as you decreed me
for when I was last here.
_Lady_. I joy to hear you are wise, 'tis a rare Jewel
In an Elder Brother: pray be wiser yet.
_Elder Lo._ Me thinks I am very wise: I do not come a wooing. Indeed I'le
move no more love to your Ladiship.
_Lady_. What makes you here then?
_Elder Lo_. Only to see you and be merry Ladie: that's all my business.
Faith let's be very merry. Where's little _Roger_? he's a good fellow: an
hour or two well spent in wholesome mirth, is worth a thousand of these
puling passions. 'Tis an ill world for Lovers.
_Lady_. They were never fewer.
_Elder Lo_. I thank God there's one less for me Ladie.
_Lady_. You were never any Sir.
_Elder Lo_. Till now, and now I am the prettiest fellow.
_Lady_. You talk like a Tailor Sir.
_Elder Lo_. Me thinks your faces are no such fine things now.
_Lady_. Why did you tell me you were wise? Lord what a lying age is this,
where will you mend these faces?
_Elder Lo_. A Hogs face soust is worth a hundred of 'em.
_Lady_. Sure you had a Sow to your Mother.
_Elder Lo_. She brought such fine white Pigs as you, fit for none but
Parsons Ladie.
_Lady_. 'Tis well you will allow us our Clergie yet.
_Elder Lo_. That shall not save you. O that I were in love again with a
wish.
_Lady_. By this light you are a scurvie fellow, pray be gone.
_Elder Lo_. You know I am a clean skin'd man.
_Lady_. Do I know it?
_Elder Lo_. Come, come, you would know it; that's as good: but not a snap,
never long for't, not a snap dear Ladie.
_Lady_. Hark ye Sir, hark ye, get ye to the Suburbs, there's horse flesh
for such hounds: will you goe Sir?
_Elder Lo_. Lord how I lov'd this woman, how I worshipt this prettie calf
with the white face here: as I live, you were the prettiest fool to play
withall, the wittiest little varlet, it would talk: Lord how it talk't!
and when I angred it, it would cry out, and scratch, and eat no meat, and
it would say, goe hang.
_Lady_. It will say so still, if you anger it.
_Elder Lo_. And when I askt it, if it would be married, it sent me of an
errand into _France_, and would abuse me, and be glad it did so.
_Lady_. Sir this is most unmanly, pray by gon.
_Elder Lo_. And swear (even when it twitter'd to be at me) I was
unhansome.
_Lady_. Have you no manners in you?
_Elder Lo_. And say my back was melted, when God he knows, I kept it at a
charge: Four _Flaunders_ Mares would have been easier to me, and a Fencer.
_Lady_. You think all this is true now?
_Elder Lo_. Faith whether it be or no, 'tis too good for you. But so much
for our mirth: Now have at you in earnest.
_L[a]_. There is enough Sir, I desire no more.
_El. Lo_. Yes faith, wee'l have a cast at your best parts now. And then
the Devil take the worst.
_Lady_. Pray Sir no more, I am not so much affected with your
commendations, 'tis almost dinner, I know they stay for you at the
Ordinary.
_Elder Lo_. E'ne a short Grace, and then I am gone; You are a woman, and
the proudest that ever lov'd a Coach: the scornfullest, scurviest, and
most senceless woman; the greediest to be prais'd, and never mov'd though
it be gross and open; the most envious, that at the poor fame of anothers
face, would eat your own, and more than is your own, the paint belonging
to it: of such a self opinion, that you think none can deserve your glove:
and for your malice, you are so excellent, you might have been your
Tempters tutor: nay, never cry.
_Lady_. Your own heart knows you wrong me: I cry for ye?
_Elder Lo_. You shall before I leave you.
_Lady_. Is all this spoke in earnest?
_Elder Lo_. Yes and more as soon as I can get it out.
_Lady_. Well out with't.
_Elder Lo_. You are, let me see.
_Lady_. One that has us'd you with too much respect.
_Elder Lo_. One that hath us'd me (since you will have it so) the basest,
the most Foot-boy-like, without respect of what I was, or what you might
be by me; you have us'd me, as I would use a jade, ride him off's legs,
then turn him to the Commons; you have us'd me with discretion, and I
thank ye. If you have many more such pretty Servants, pray build an
Hospital, and when they are old, pray keep 'em for shame.
_Lady_. I cannot think yet this is serious.
_Elder Lo_. Will you have more on't?
_Lady_. No faith, there's enough if it be true:
Too much by all my part; you are no Lover then?
_Elder Lo_. No, I had rather be a Carrier.
_Lady_. Why the Gods amend all.
_Elder Lo_. Neither do I think there can be such a fellow found i'th'
world, to be in love with such a froward woman, if there be such, they're
mad, _Jove_ comfort 'em. Now you have all, and I as new a man, as light,
and spirited, that I feel my self clean through another creature. O 'tis
brave to be ones own man, I can see you now as I would see a Picture, sit
all day by you and never kiss your hand: hear you sing, and never fall
backward: but with as set a temper, as I would hear a Fidler, rise and
thank you. I can now keep my mony in my purse, that still was gadding out
for Scarfes and Wastcoats: and keep my hand from Mercers sheep-skins
finely. I can eat mutton now, and feast my self with my two shillings, and
can see a play for eighteen pence again: I can my Ladie.
_Lady_. The carriage of this fellow vexes me. Sir, pray let me speak a
little private with you, I must not suffer this.
_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha, what would you with me?
You will not ravish me? Now, your set speech?
_Lady_. Thou perjur'd man.
_Elder Lo_. Ha, ha, ha, this is a fine _exordium_.
And why I pray you perjur'd?
_Lady_. Did you not swear a thousand thousand times you lov'd me best of
all things?
_Elder Lo_. I do confess it: make your best of that.
_Lady_. Why do you say you do not then?
_Elder Lo_. Nay I'le swear it,
And give sufficient reason, your own usage.
_Lady_. Do you not love me then?
_Elder Lo_. No faith.
_Lady_. Did you ever think I lov'd you dearly?
_Elder Lo_. Yes, but I see but rotten fruits on't.
_Lady_. Do not denie your hand for I must kiss it, and take my last
farewell, now let me die so you be happy.
_El. Lo_. I am too foolish: Ladie speak dear Ladie.
_Lady_. No let me die. _She swounds._
_Mar_. Oh my Sister!
_Abi_. O my Ladie help, help.
_Mar_. Run for some _Rosalis_!
_Elder Lo_. I have plaid the fine ass: bend her bodie, Lady, best,
dearest, worthiest Lady, hear your Servant, I am not as I shew'd: O
wretched fool, to fling away the Jewel of thy life thus. Give her more
air, see she begins to stir, sweet Mistress hear me!
_Lady_. Is my Servant well?
_Elder Lo_. In being yours I am so.
_Lady_. Then I care not.
_Elder Lo_. How do ye, reach a chair there; I confess my fault not
pardonable, in pursuing thus upon such tenderness my wilfull error; but
had I known it would have wrought thus with ye, thus strangely, not the
world had won me to it, and let not (my best Ladie) any word spoke to my
end disturb your quiet peace: for sooner shall you know a general ruine,
than my faith broken. Do not doubt this Mistris, for by my life I cannot
live without you. Come, come, you shall not grieve, rather be angrie, and
heap infliction upon me: I will suffer. O I could curse my self, pray
smile upon me. Upon my faith it was but a trick to trie you, knowing you
lov'd me dearlie, and yet strangely that you would never shew it, though
my means was all humilitie.
_All_. Ha, ha.
_Elder Lo_. How now?
_Lady_. I thank you fine fool for your most fine plot; this was a subtile
one, a stiff device to have caught Dottrels with. Good senceless Sir,
could you imagine I should swound for you, and know your self to be an
arrant ass? I, a discovered one. 'Tis quit I thank you Sir. Ha, ha, ha.
_Mar_. Take heed Sir, she may chance to swound again.
_All_. Ha, ha, ha.
_Abi_. Step to her Sir, see how she changes colour.
_Elder Lo_. I'le goe to hell first, and be better welcom.
I am fool'd, I do confess it, finely fool'd,
Ladie, fool'd Madam, and I thank you for it.
_Lady_. Faith 'tis not so much worth Sir:
But if I knew when you come next a burding,
I'le have a stronger noose to hold the Woodcock.
_All_. Ha, ha, ha.
_Elder Lo_. I am glad to see you merry, pray laugh on.
_Mar_. H'ad a hard heart that could not laugh at you Sir, ha, ha, ha.
_Lady_. Pray Sister do not laugh, you'le anger him,
And then hee'l rail like a rude Costermonger,
That School-boys had couzened of his Apples,
As loud and senceless.
_Elder Lo_. I will not rail.
_Mar_. Faith then let's hear him Sister.
_Elder Lo_. Yes, you shall hear me.
_Lady_. Shall we be the better by it then?
_Eld. L_. No, he that makes a woman better by his words,
I'le have him Sainted: blows will not doe it.
_Lady_. By this light hee'll beat us.
_Elder Lo_. You do deserve it richly,
And may live to have a Beadle doe it.
_Lady_. Now he rails.
_Elder Lo_. Come scornfull Folly,
If this be railing, you shall hear me rail.
_Lady_. Pray put it in good words then.
_Elder Lo_. The worst are good enough for such a trifle,
Such a proud piece of Cobweblawn.
_Lady_. You bite Sir?
_Elder Lo_. I would till the bones crackt, and I had my will.
_Mar_. We had best muzzel him, he grows mad.
_Elder Lo_. I would 'twere lawfull in the next great sickness to have the
Dogs spared, those harmless creatures, and knock i'th' head these hot
continual plagues, women, that are more infectious. I hope the State will
think on't.
_Lady_. Are you well Sir?
_Mar_. He looks as though he had a grievous fit o'th' Colick.
_Elder Lo_. Green-ginger will cure me.
_Abig_. I'le heat a trencher for him.
_Elder Lo_. Durty _December_ doe, Thou with a face as old as _Erra Pater_,
such a Prognosticating nose: thou thing that ten years since has left to
be a woman, outworn the expectation of a Baud; and thy dry bones can reach
at nothing now, but gords or ninepins, pray goe fetch a trencher goe.
_Lady_. Let him alone, he's crack't.
_Abig_. I'le see him hang'd first, is a beastly fellow to use a woman of
my breeding thus; I marry is he: would I were a man, I'de make him eat his
Knaves words!
_Elder Lo_. Tie your she Otter up, good Lady folly, she stinks worse than
a Bear-baiting.
_Lady_. Why will you be angry now?
_Elder Lo_. Goe paint and purge, call in your kennel with you: you a Lady?
_Abi_. Sirra, look to't against the quarter Sessions, if there be good
behaviour in the world, I'le have thee bound to it.
_Elder Lo_. You must not seek it in your Ladies house then; pray send this
Ferret home, and spin good _Abigal_. And Madam, that your Ladiship may
know, in what base manner you have us'd my service, I do from this hour
hate thee heartily; and though your folly should whip you to repentance,
and waken you at length to see my wrongs, 'tis not the endeavour of your
life shall win me; not all the friends you have, intercession, nor your
submissive letters, though they spoke as many tears as words; not your
knees grown to th' ground in penitence, nor all your state, to kiss you;
nor my pardon, nor will to give you Christian burial, if you dye thus; so
farewell. When I am married and made sure, I'le come and visit you again,
and vex you Ladie. By all my hopes I'le be a torment to you, worse than a
tedious winter. I know you will recant and sue to me, but save that
labour: I'le rather love a fever and continual thirst, rather contract my
youth to drink and sacerdote upon quarrels, or take a drawn whore from an
Hospital, that time, diseases, and _Mercury_ had eaten, than to be drawn
to love you.
_Lady_. Ha, ha, ha, pray do, but take heed though.
_Elder Lo_. From thee, false dice, jades, Cowards, and plaguy Summers,
good Lord deliver me. [_Exit_ Elder Love.
_Lady_. But hark you Servant, hark ye: is he gon? call him again.
_Abigal_. Hang him Paddock.
_Lady_. Art thou here still? flie, flie, and call my Servant, flie or ne'r
see me more.
_Abigal_. I had rather knit again than see that rascall, but I must doe
it. [_Exit_ Abigal.
_Lady_. I would be loth to anger him too much; what fine foolery is this
in a woman, to use those men most forwardly they love most? If I should
lose him thus, I were rightly served. I hope he's not so much himself, to
take it to th'heart: how now? will he come back?
_Enter_ Abigal.
_Abig_. Never, he swears, whilst he can hear men say there's any woman
living: he swore he would ha' me first.
_Lady_. Didst thou intreat him wench?
_Abigal_. As well as I could Madam. But this is still your way, to love
being absent, and when he's with you, laugh at him and abuse him. There's
another way if you could hit on't.
_Lady_. Thou saist true, get me paper, pen and ink, I'le write to him,
I'de be loth he should sleep in's anger. Women are most fools when they
think th'are wisest.
[_Ex. Omnes._
_Musick. Enter_ Young Loveless, _and_ Widow, _going to be Married, with
them his_ Comrades.
_Widow_. Pray Sir cast off these fellows, as unfitting for your bare
knowledge, and far more your companie: is't fit such Ragamuffins as these
are should bear the name of friends? and furnish out a civil house? ye're
to be married now, and men that love you must expect a course far from
your old carrier: if you will keep 'em, turn 'em to th' stable, and there
make 'em grooms: and yet now consider it, such beggars once set o' horse
back, you have heard will ride, how far you had best to look.
_Captain_. Hear you, you that must be Ladie, pray content your self and
think upon your carriage soon at night, what dressing will best take your
Knight, what wastcote, what cordial will do well i'th' morning for him,
what triers have you?
_Widow_. What do you mean Sir?
_Capt_. Those that must switch him up: if he start well, fear not but cry
Saint _George_, and bear him hard: when you perceive his wind growes hot
and wanting, let him a little down, he's fleet, ne're doubt him, and
stands sound.
_Widow_. Sir, you hear these fellows?
_Young Love_. Merrie companions, wench, Merry companions.
_Widow_. To one another let 'em be companions, but good Sir not to you:
you shall be civil and slip off these base trappings.
_Cap_. He shall not need, my most swee[t] Ladie Grocer, if he be civil,
not your powdered Sugar, nor your Raisins shall perswade the Captain to
live a Coxcomb with him; let him be civil and eat i'th' _Arches_, and see
what will come on't.
_Poet_. Let him be civil, doe: undo him; I, that's the next way. I will
not take (if he be civil once) two hundred pound a year to live with him;
be civil? there's a trim perswasion.
_Capt_. If thou beest civil Knight, as _Jove_ defends it, get thee another
nose, that will be pull'd off by the angry boyes for thy conversion: the
children thou shalt get on this Civillian cannot inherit by the law,
th'are _Ethnicks_, and all thy sport meer Moral leacherie: when they are
grown, having but little in 'em, they may prove Haberdashers, or gross
Grocers, like their dear Damm there: prethee be civil Knight, in time thou
maist read to thy houshold, and be drunk once a year: this would shew
finely.
_Young Lo_. I wonder sweet heart you will offer this, you do not
understand these Gentlemen: I will be short and pithy: I had rather cast
you off by the way of charge: these are Creatures, that nothing goes to
the maintenance of but Corn and Water. I will keep these fellows just in
the competencie of two Hens.
_Wid_. If you can cast it so Sir, you have my liking. If they eat less, I
should not be offended: But how these Sir, can live upon so little as Corn
and Water, I am unbelieving.
_Young Lo_. Why prethee sweet heart what's your Ale? is not that Corn and
Water, my sweet Widow?
_Wid_. I but my sweet Knight where's the meat to this, and cloaths that
they must look for?
_Young Lo_. In this short sentence Ale, is all included: Meat, Drink, and
Cloth; These are no ravening Footmen, no fellows, that at Ordinaries dare
eat their eighteen pence thrice out before they rise, and yet goe hungry
to play, and crack more nuts than would suffice a dozen Squirrels; besides
the din, which is damnable: I had rather rail, and be confin'd to a
_Boatmaker_, than live amongst such rascals; these are people of such a
clean discretion in their diet, of such a moderate sustenance, that they
sweat if they but smell hot meat. _Porredge_ is poison, they hate a
Kitchin as they hate a Counter, and show 'em but a Feather-bed they
swound. Ale is their eating and their drinking surely, which keeps their
bodies clear, and soluble. Bread is a binder, and for that abolisht even
in their Ale, whose lost room fills an apple, which is more airy and of
subtiler nature. The rest they take is little, and that little is little
easie: For like strict men of order, they do correct their bodies with a
bench, or a poor stubborn table; if a chimny offer it self with some few
broken rushes, they are in down: when they are sick, that's drunk, they
may have fresh straw, else they do despise these worldly pamperings. For
their poor apparel, 'tis worn out to the diet; new they seek none, and if
a man should offer, they are angrie, scarce to be reconcil'd again with
him: you shall not hear 'em ask one a cast doublet once in a year, which
is modesty befitting my poor friends: you see their _Wardrobe_, though
slender, competent: For shirts I take it, they are things worn out of
their remembrance. Lousie they will be when they list, and _mangie_, which
shows a fine variety: and then to cure 'em, a _Tanners_ limepit, which is
little charge, two dogs, and these; these two may be cur'd for 3. pence.
_Wid_. You have half perswaded me, pray use your pleasure: and my good
friends since I do know your diet, I'le take an order, meat shall not
offend you, you shall have Ale.
_Capt_. We ask no more, let it be, mighty Lady: and if we perish, then our
own sins on us.
_Young Lo_. Come forward Gentlemen, to Church my boys,
when we have done, I'le give you cheer in bowles. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._
_Enter_ Elder Loveless.
_Elder Lo_. This senseless woman vexes me to th' heart, she will not from
my memory: would she were a man for one two hours, that I might beat her.
If I had been unhansome, old or jealous, 'thad been an even lay she might
have scorn'd me; but to be young, and by this light I think as proper as
the proudest; made as clean, as straight, and strong backt; means and
manners equal with the best cloth of silver Sir i'th' kingdom: But these
are things at some time of the Moon, below the cut of Canvas: sure she has
some Meeching Rascal in her house, some Hind, that she hath seen bear
(like another _Milo_) quarters of Malt upon his back, and sing with't,
Thrash all day, and i'th' evening in his stockings, strike up a Hornpipe,
and there stink two hours, and ne're a whit the worse man; these are they,
these steel chin'd Rascals that undo us all. Would I had been a Carter, or
a Coachman, I had done the deed e're this time.
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