+Phil.+ They shall be extremely paid for their pains. Again, if any can bring tidings of this Master Pinguister to Mistress Mirida, She will be very bountiful in her Reward: the poor soul weeps most bitterly For him. +Ping.+ Does she so, poor wretch? [_Cries aloud._] Prythee, good Crier, go tell her I am not dead, though I have been buried a great while in the Vault. Mercy of my bum-gut, my purge again? +Omnes.+ You nasty rogue, turn your breech out of the Gate then. [_Goes to do so, +Philidor+ kicks him down, he roars out._ +Mir.+ Philidor, I have broke a vein With laughing, to hear thy rogueries. I'll call To Pinguister. Master Pinguister? My Love, my dear, sure, I hear thy voice? +Ping.+ Who's that, My dear female? +Mir.+ The same, fat love. +Ping.+ O, prythee raise me from the dead. +Phil.+ Well, ladies and gentlewomen, how d'ye Like your crier now? +Omnes.+ The devil take thee, was it you? +Phil.+ The very same. +2d Lady.+ Well, won't you let us out? pray howsoever, Take away this fat gentleman from us; For he has such a coming looseness, and 'Tis so dark here, that he has Shit upon every one of us. +Omnes.+ Well, but won't you let us out? +Phil.+ Yes, if you ladies would set your hands To this paper, to quit me as to all promises, I will; and also, my reverend nurses, You must set your hands to this discharge, To quit me from all arrears of nursing: Else farewell t'ye-- +Omnes.+ Well, well, stay; we will. [_Set their hands._ +Phil.+ So, now you may go take the air Again; there's the key to let yourselves out. +Omnes.+ A cheating rogue! +Phil.+ Come, Mirida, let's run away, for if They catch us, murder is the best we can Hope for. [_Exit, with +Mirida+._ +1st Nurse.+ They went this way; let's run after Them, some one way and some t'other. [_Exeunt +Women+._ +Ping.+ So you may, but if I run away, then Hang me; I am glad of my resurrection Howsoever. On my conscience, no green Carcase ever stunk as I did; to my best Remembrance I went to stool some Threescore times in the vault, _ergo_ I was beaten threescore times; the Unmerciful nurses, with their huge Palm'd hands, every time I went to't, Play'd at hot-cockles[76] all the while upon My buttocks. Well, I hope I shall ne'er be Buried again whilst I live, and so with That prayer I'll go to bed. _Enter +Mirida+._ +Mir.+ My dear fat love, little dost thou think how many Tears I have shed for all thy sufferings; that rogue Philidor put a trick upon us all.