_Lil._ Yes, and I have performed enough to a man of your years, this is truth; and you shall find, Sir, you have kiss'd and tous'd me, handl'd my leg and foot; what would you more, Sir? As for the rest, it requires youth and strength, and the labour in an old man would breed Agues, Sciatica's, and Cramps: You shall not curse me for taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir. Be good unto your self, y'have ta'ne already all you can take with ease; you are past threshing, it is a work too boisterous for you, leave such drudgery to _Andrew_. _Mir._ How she jeers him! _Lil._ Let _Andrew_ alone with his own tillage, he's tough, and can manure it. _Bri._ Y'are a quean, a scoffing, jeering quean. _Lil._ It may be so, but I'm sure I'll ne'r be yours. _Bri._ Do not provoke me, if thou do'st I'll have my Farm again, and turn thee out a begging. _Lil._ Though you have the will, and want of honesty to deny your deed, Sir; yet I hope _Andrew_ has got so much learning from my young Master, as to keep his own; at the worst I'll tell a short tale to the Judges, for what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on what terms you would revoke it. _Bri_. Whore, thou dar'st not. Yield, or I'll have thee whipt: how my Bloud boils, as if't were o're a Furnace! _Mir_. I shall cool it. _Bri_. Yet, gentle _Lilly_, pity and forgive me, I'll be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountiful friend-- _Lil_. To avoid Suits in Law, I would grant a little; but should fierce _Andrew_ know it, what would become of me? _And_. A Whore, a Whore! _Bri_. Nothing but well Wench, I shall put such a strong Bit in his mouth, as thou shall ride him how thou wilt, my _Lilly_; nay, he shall hold the door, as I will work him, and thank thee for the Office. _Mir_. Take heed, _Andrew_, these are shrewd temptations. _And_. Pray you know your Cue, and second me, Sir. By your Worship's favour. _Bri_. _Andrew_! _And_. I come in time to take possession of th'Office you assign me; hold the door! alas, 'tis nothing for a simple man to stay without, when a deep understanding holds conference within, say with his Wife: a trifle, Sir. I know I hold my Farm by Cuckolds Tenure; you are Lord o'th' Soil, Sir. _Lilly_ is a Weft, a stray, she's yours to use, Sir, I claim no interest in her. _Bri_. Art thou serious? speak, honest _Andrew_, since thou hast o'erheard us, and wink at small faults, man; I'm but a pidlar, a little will serve my turn; thou'lt find enough when I've my belly full: Wilt thou be private and silent? _And_. By all means, I'll only have a Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune, and the name of it shall be _Justice Trap_; it will sell rarely with your Worships name, and _Lilly_'s on the top. _Bri_. Seek not the ruine o' my reputation, _Andrew_. _And_. 'Tis for your credit, Monsieur _Brisac_, printed in Capital Letters, then pasted upon all the posts in _Paris_. _Bri_. No mercy, _Andrew_? _And_. O, it will proclaim you from the City to the Court, and prove Sport Royal.