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She is no wife for me, she has broke my Jewes-trump; look you here else. And almost broke my head with one of my bounding stones.
Blesse my boy; she has not, has she, ha!
And yet after all that, and for all I offered to teach her to shoot in my Trunk and my Stone-bowe, do you think she would play with me at Trou, Ma∣dam? no, nor at any thing else. I'll none of her.
And yet I'le have her too. If she will promise to do as I would have her hereafter.
Sweet Madam, what to do? ha, ha, I shall be quickly weary with laughing at him. His fooling will soon be stale and ••edious; and then to beat him would be as toilsome to me; and lastly, to be tied to nothing but to cuckold him, is such a common Town-trick, that I scorne to follow the fashion.
I can but grieve for't, Madam.
My mother is as good as your mother, so she is, for all she's dead.
I, well-said Neh.
How dare you Huswife talk thus to my son, of me, and before my face too? ha! Sir Swithen, can you think well of me, and suffer this, ha?
Alas, good Madam, I am down again I know not what to think of living woman now.
Do you bring your Neece to abuse me?
I am so drown'd in teares, that I cannot ••ee what to say to't.
Mother, Amardla, the more I look on her, the better I like her.
Sayest so, my boy. Besides, I have a conceit she can out-scold you▪ and that's more then ever woman did, I think f'sooth.
For thee, I do forbear her.
By your leave, my Lady Nestlecock, I have brought a sister of yours here to salute you.
Though unworthy to be of your Counsel, or at the Ceremony, I heard you were married brother. And by a Sisters name you are welcome.
I thank your Ladiship.
Sir Swithen Whimlby! and your pretty Neece! well met, what affairs have you in hand here? what do you cry for your old wife still or for a new one? But heark, you Lady Sister, where's my daugh∣ter?
Now for a tempest. Truly sir, I know not.
Is shenot with you, ha?
VVhat, what? how now? do you taunt me, sirrah, ha?
I'll make thee an example.
Thou hast made thy self an example, and the scorne of thine own childe in marrying of thy drudge there; and thats the cause of her running away thou mayest think, because she hates to live where she must call her mother that was thy droile.
Droile, I think, she said.
Speak to her, I charge thee, on thy obedience to speak to her.
The droile is now your brothers wife, Madam, and in that setting your Ladiships lavish tongue aside, as good a woman as your selfe, none disprais'd, ha.
Well-said Rachel, hold thine own Rachel. And so to you, sir Sw then.
Mother, come away, mother.
By and by, my boy.
Do you presume to call me drudge and droile, that am a Ladies Sister every day in the week; and have been any time these three dayes, ha.
That's not every day in a whole week yet.
Thou shalt not dare to call me sister Hus∣wife.
Cods so, and why troe? because a Lady scornes to be a huswife, ha. If you be no huswife, I sc••rn to call
you Sister, I; though my husband be your brother. From whence came you troe, ha?
I know not what to say to the bold-face.
Pray f'sooth come away, I am afear'd she'l beat you.
Thanks, my good childe, but do not be afraid my Lamb.
Boldface, ha! Her brothers wife▪s a bold-face, but her face is not varnish't over, yet like his Lady∣sisters face, but it may be in time when she learnes the trick on't, and have as many flies upon't, though not so troubled with 'hem, as a bald mare at Midsummer, hah.
I know not what to say to her, she has charm'd the vertue of my tongue.
I never heard her speak so much in all her life, Sir Swithin, nor half so loud. hank heaven, she has a voice yet on a good occasion. And so farre I'll maintain her in it. Nephew Nehemiah, when saw you your Cousin Joyce.
O Lud, O mother f'sooth, look you, mine Uncle holds me.
Ah, naughty man, did a so gi▪me a stroke, and I'll beat it, ••h—.
Your wife has taught you to play the rude companion, has she? Pray take her home sir, and let her discipline your owne childe if you have one, and let mine alone. You know the way you came, sir; or if you have a minde to stay here, Come Sir Swithen, come away children; I hope I shall finde some other room in mine own house, free from your assaults, if not, I'm sure there's Law against Riots. Come Sir Swithen.
Mark how his mothers milk drops at his nose, while I shew you the mother and the childe.
He was her youngest sonne, and all that's left of seven, and dreaming that he needs must prove a Prophet, she has bred him up a fool.
O prophane wretch, worse then thy brother Strigood.
Do not cry, Nehemiah, peace, good boy, peace. So so.Well said, Sir Swithen, laugh on. I hope I ha' done a cure on him, by shewing him a
more ridiculous object then himselfe, to turne the tide of's tears.
Ha, ha, ha, let the dead go, and the quick care for themselves. You buri'd your wife, and cri'd, and I buried mine.
And laugh; which is the manlier Passion.Nay, what ha' you made your self? best ask the Chimney piece that you have married there.