Roughman. Shall we have humours, sauce-box? You have ears; I’ll teach you prick-song.[2.26] Clem. But you have now a wrong sow by the ear. I will call her. Roughman. Do, sir; you had best. Clem. If you were twenty Roughmans, if you lug me by the ears again, I’ll draw. Roughman. Ha! what will you draw? Clem. The best wine in the house for your worship; and I would call her, but I can assure you that she is either not stirring, or else not in case. Roughman. How not in case? Clem. I think she hath not her smock on; for I think I saw it lie at her bed’s head. Roughman. What! drawers grow capricious?[2.27] Clem. Help! help! _Enter_ Bess Bridges. Bess. What uproar’s this? Shall we be never rid From these disturbances? Roughman. Why, how now, Bess? Is this your housewifery? When you are mine, I’ll have you rise as early as the lark. Look to the bar yourself; these lazy rascals Will bring your state behindhand. Clem. You lie, sir. Roughman. How! lie! Clem. Yes, sir, at the Raven in the High Street. I was at your lodging this morning for a pottle-pot. Roughman. You will about your business: must you here Stand gaping and idle? [_Strikes him_. Bess. You wrong me, sir, And tyrannize too much over my servants. I will have no man touch them but myself. Clem. If I do not put ratsbane into his wine, instead of sugar, say I am no true baker. [_Exit_. Roughman. What! rise at noon? A man may fight a tall fray in a morning, And one of your best friends, too, be hacked and mangled, And almost cut to pieces, and you fast, Close in your bed, ne’er dream on’t. Bess. Fought you this day? Roughman. And ne’er was better put to’t in my days. Bess. I pray, how was’t? Roughman. Thus. As I passed yon fields---- _Enter_ Kitchenmaid. Maid. I pray, forsooth, what shall I reckon for the jowl of ling[2.28] in the Portcullis? Roughman. A pox upon your jowls, you kitchen-stuff! Go, scour your skillets,[2.29] pots, and dripping-pans, And interrupt not us. [_Kicks at her_. Maid. The devil take your ox-heels, you foul cod’s-head! must you be kicking? Roughman. Minion! dare you scold? Maid. Yes, sir; and lay my ladle over your coxcomb. [_Exit_. Bess. I do not think that thou darest strike a man, That swagger’st thus o’er women. Roughman. How now, Bess? Bess. Shall we be never quiet? Fawcett. You are too rude. Roughman. Now I profess all patience. Bess. Then proceed. Roughman. Rising up early, minion, whilst you slept, To cross yon field, I had but newly parted With this my friend, but that I soon espied A gallant fellow, and most strongly armed: In the mid-field we met, and, both being resolute, We justled for the wall. Bess. Why, did there stand a wall in the mid-field? Roughman. I meant, strove for the way. Two such brave spirits meeting, straight both drew.