_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.