for the guts stunk so much, as no man could eat any of them.
Briget.
I'm sure 'twas your fault, in that you did not bring me where∣withall to make them, until such time as the guts began to putrifie.
Thrifty.
No, no, you are a Slut, and did not take all the dung out of them, nor wash, nor scrape, nor cleanse them as they should have been; but you order the guts, as you do the dishes, the one is dungy; the other greasie; be∣sides, my Master complains, that his Fowl taste rank, and his Brawn tasts strong, and his Beef tasts musty, and that's because you are so lazy, as not to shift your Brawn into fresh Sousing-drink, nor make the brine strong enough in the powdring-tub, nor thrust your fingers far enough into the Fowls rumps, to draw them clean; besides, when they are roasted, they are as dry as a chip, for want of basting-butter; besides, your sluttery is such, as you will poyson all the House: for in one place I find a piece of butter, and a greasie comb full of nitty hairs lying by it; and in another place flour and old-worn stockings, the feet being rotted off with sweat; and in a third place, a dish of cold meat cover'd with a foul smock, and your durty shooes (for the most part) stand upon the Dresser-board, where you lay the hot meat; besides, by your carelesness you do waste and spoil so much, as it is unsufferable: for you will fling whole ladlefuls of dripping into the fire, to make the fire blaze underneath the pot; and because you have not the profit of the Kitchin-stuff, you will never scrape the Dresser-board, nor Dripping-pans, nor lick the Platters, Trays, or Scummers, Frying-pans, Skillets, Gridirons, Spits, Ladles, Kettles, or any of the Kitchin-vessels, as you should doe, but wash them all with hot water at first, without taking off the grease before∣hand.
Briget.
Well, if you do not like me, pray pay me my wages, and I will be gone: I'm sure I never serv'd in any place for so small wages and few vails as in this service: I'm sure 'tis no ways beneficial to me.
Thrifty.
I'm sure you'l make it beneficial one way or another: for you have your female Factors that lie abroad, to whom you send Commodities by your She-porters, that come hither every day to transport them. Thus you traffique upon my Masters Cost, and my Reputation: for I am thought the worse of either, as believing I am a false Steward, or a negligent one. Thus a True man is thought a Knave: for by your stealing I am thought a Thief.
Briget.
You are a base man for saying I steal, I never was accounted a Thief in my life, but always trusty and true, in what Service soever I lived.
The Steward goes out, and Briget Greasie left as crying: Then enters her Master Sir John Dotard, and looks earnestly upon her, and then speaks as to himself.
Dotard.
She's a pretty Wench, if she had but clean cloaths on, by Venus she would be very handsome; a Silk Gown would make her a rare Beauty; her Tears fall on her Nose and Cheeks like gentle showers of rain on Roses and Lillies sweet. O she is a heavenly Creature!
He speaks to her.
Sweet-heart, where do you live?
Briget.
In your Worships House.
Dottard.
And whose servant are you?