Part 18 (2/2)

_Elder Lo_. It is the waiting woman, pray be not seen: sirrah hold her in discourse a while: hark in your ear, go and dispatch it quickly, when I come in, I'le tell you all the project.

_Wel_. I care not which I have. [_Exit_ Welford.

_Elder Lo_. Away, 'tis done, she must not see you: now Lady _Guiniver_ what news with you?

_Enter_ Abigal.

_Abig_. Pray leave these frumps Sir, and receive this letter.

_Elder Lo_. From whom good vanity?

_Abig_. 'Tis from my Lady Sir: Alas good soul, she cries and takes on!

_Elder Lo_. Do's she so good Soul? wou'd she not have a Cawdle? do's she send you with your fine Oratory goody _Tully_ to tye me to believe again?

bring out the Cat-hounds, I'le make you take a tree Wh.o.r.e, then with my tiller bring down your _Gibs.h.i.+p_, and then have you cast, and hung up i'th' Warren.

_Abig_. I am no beast Sir, would you knew it.

_Elder Lo_. Wou'd I did, for I am yet very doubtful; what will you say now?

_Abig_. Nothing not I.

_Elder Lo_. Art thou a woman, and say nothing?

_Abig_. Unless you'l hear me with more moderation, I can speak wise enough.

_Elder Lo_. And loud enough? will your Lady love me?

_Abig_. It seems so by her letter, and her lamentations; but you are such another man.

_Elder Lo_. Not such another as I was, Mumps; nor will not be: I'le read her fine Epistle: ha, ha, ha, is not thy Mistress mad?

_Abig_. For you she will be, 'tis a shame you should use a poor Gentlewoman so untowardly; she loves the ground you tread on; and you (hard heart) because she jested with you, mean to kill her; 'tis a fine conquest as they say.

_Elder Lo_. Hast thou so much moisture in the Whitleather hide yet, that thou canst cry? I wou'd have sworn thou hadst been touchwood five year since; nay let it rain, thy face chops for a shower like a dry Dunghil.

_Abig_. I'le not indure this Ribauldry; farewel i'th' Devils name; if my Lady die, I'le be sworn before a Jury, thou art the cause on't.

_Elder Lo_. Do Maukin do, deliver to your Lady from me this: I mean to see her, if I have no other business: which before I'le want to come to her, I mean to go seek birds nests: yet I may come too: but if I come, from this door till I see her, will I think how to rail vildly at her; how to vex her, and make her cry so much, that the Physician if she fall sick upon't, shall find the cause to be want of Urine, and she remediless dye in her Heresie: Farewell old Adage, I hope to see the Boys make Potguns on thee.

_Abig_. Th'art a vile man, G.o.d bless my issue from thee.

_Elder Lo_. Thou hast but one, and that's in thy left crupper, that makes thee hobble so; you must be ground i'th' breach like a Top, you'I ne're spin well else: Farewell Fytchock. [_Exeunt_.

_Enter_ Lady _alone_.

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