_Mar._ To nothing! I'll be sworn I have brought them to all the things I could; I ha' made as much o' your maidenhead--and you had been mine own daughter, I could not ha' sold your maidenhead oft'ner than I ha' done. I ha' sworn for you, God forgive me! I have made you acquainted with the Spaniard, Don Skirtoll,--with the Italian, Messer Beieroane,--with the Irish lord, S. Patrick,--with the Dutch merchant, Haunce Herkin Glukin Skellam Flapdragon,--and specially with the greatest French, and now lastly with this English, yet, in my conscience, an honest gentleman. And am I now grown one of the accursed with you for my labour? Is this my reward? Am I call'd bawd? Well, Mary Faugh, go thy ways, Mary Faugh; thy kind heart will bring thee to the hospital. 25 _Fra._ Nay, good naunt, you'll help me to an oder love, vil you not? _Mar._ Out, thou naughty belly! wouldst thou make me thy bawd?--thou'st best make me thy bawd. I ha' kept counsel for thee: who paid the apothecary,--was't not honest Mary Faugh? who redeem'd thy petticoat and mantle,--was't not honest Mary Faugh? who helped thee to thy custom,--not swaggering Ireland captains, nor of two-shilling inns-o'-court men,--but with honest flat-caps,[39] wealthy flat-caps, that pay for their pleasure the best of any men in Europe, nay, which is more, in London? And dost thou defy me, vile creature? 37 _Fra._ Foutra[40] pon you,--vitch, bawd, polecat,--paugh! Did not you praise Freevill to mine love? _Mar._ I did praise, I confess, I did praise him; I said he was a fool, an unthrift, a true whoremaster, I confess; a constant drab-keeper, I confess: but what, the wind is turn'd! _Fra._ It is, it is, vile woman!--reprobate woman!--naughty woman! it is: vat sall become of mine poor flesh now? mine body must turn Turk for twopence. O Divela, life o' mine art! ick sall be reveng'd!--do ten thousand hell damn me, ick sall have the rogue trote cut! and his love, and his friend, and all his affinity, sall smart! sall dye! sall hang! Now legion of devil seize him!--de gran pest, St. Anthony's fire, and de hot Neapolitan poc, rot him! 52 _Enter_ FREEVILL _and_ MALHEUREUX. _Free._ Franceschina! _Fra._ O mine seet, dear'st, kindest, mine loving! O mine towsand, ten towsand, delicated, petty[41] seet art! [_Cantat Gallicè._ A[h] mine, a[h] dear leevest affection! _Free._ Why, monkey, no fashion in you! Give entertain to my friend.