No keyword-matching excerpt could be extracted (the cluster label doesn't share vocabulary with this character's speech).
Full speech
Be content sweet Wife. Patience sweet Wife. Nay pray thee cease, I'll be at more cost yet, Thou knowest we are rich enough. Sweet Wife have patience. I know it's great, but what of that Wife? I cannot do with all, there's things making By thine own Doctors advice at Pothecaries, I spare for nothing Wife, no if the price Were forty marks a spoonful, I'de give a thousand pound to purchase fruitfulness, It's but bating so many good works In the erecting of Bridewells and Spittle-houses, And so fetch it up again, for having none I mean to make good deeds my Children. Hang thee, thou hast had too many. Oh horrible, darest thou call me brevity? Darest thou be so short with me? Talk not on't pray thee, Thou'lt make me play the Woman, and weep too. They may be all deceived, Be but you patient Wife. Suffer thy Heart out, a Pox suffer thee. Come, come, I have done, You'll to the Gossiping of M r Allwits Child? Sorrow consume thee, thou art still crossing me, And knowest my nature. Oh that, that, that or nothing. Is't possible? I'll venture that I faith. No matter, what serves wealth for? Thou liest Barrenness. It's thy fault. Thine, it's thou art barren. I'll be deuorc't. I'll give up House, & keep some fruitful whore, Like and old Bachelor in a Tradsmans Chamber, She and her Children shall have all. What with her? Never. You work all in vain. Singleness confound her, I took her with one Smock. Heart she bit soar there, Prethe make's friends. I'll fell all at and Outcry. Good Sir pardon me, I'm Master of this House, Which I'll fell presently, I'll clap up Bills this Evening. Thou art nothing of a Woman. Nay prethe what dost mean? I faith thou art a good Soul, he lies that says it, Buss, buss, pretty Rogue. Is the Drink come? I hope to see thee wench within these few years, Cirkled with Children, pranking up a Girl, And putting Jewels in their little Ears, Fine sport I says. A Pox on thee. I will not take it now Sir, And I were sure to get three Boys ere Midnight. Hang strumpet, I will take it now in spite. I mean so, Within there? Saddle the white Mare, I'll take a Whore along, and ride to Beware. I'll plague you every way, Look you, do you see, it's gone. I curse and spare not now. Nay I'm not given to standing. I never could stand long in one place yet, I learned it of my Father, ever figient, How if I crossed this Sir? What say you to a Table thus high Sir? Or else I had a bade Head: you must receive Sir four hundred pounds of me at four several payments: One hundred pound now in hand. Another hundred when my Wives is quick: the third when she's brought a bed: and the last hundred when the Child cries, For if it should be still born, it does no good Sir. Not a whit Sir, I'm in and excellent pace for any Physic, I shall up presently: One kiss, and farewell. Expect me about three. Ho my Wives quickened, I am a Man for ever, I think I have bestur'd my stumps I faith: Run, get your Fellows altogether instantly, Then to the Parish-Church, and ring the Bells. Upon my love I charge you Villain, that you make a Bonfire before the Door at night. A thwacking one I charge you. Run, tell a hundred pound out for the Gentleman That gave my Wife the Drink, the first thing you do. A bargain, as our joys grows, We must remember still from whence it flows, Or else we prove ungrateful multiplyers: The Child is coming, and the Land comes after, The news of this will make a poor S r Walter. I have struck it home I faith. Both, go both together? My Wife helps the number then? Her Parents may have joyful Hearts at this, I would not have my cruelty so talked on, To any Child of mine, for a Monopoly. Come, we'll see't. M r Tuchwood, hearest thou this news? I am so endeared to thee for my Wives fruitfulness, That I charge you both, your Wife and thee, To live no more asunder for the World's frowns, I have Purse, and Bed, and Board for you: Be not afraid to go to your business roundly, Get Children, and I'll keep them. Prove me, with three at a birth, & thou darest now. 'Foot, I dare you Sir. Had I been ought, hang thee, hadst thou been ought, But a cross thing I ever found thee.
Plot summary
Plot — A Chaste Maid in Cheapside
Sir Walter Whorehound lives high on the expectation of an inheritance: unless Sir Oliver Kix produces an heir, his estate will pass to Sir Walter — and Sir Oliver is impotent. Sir Walter maintains Allwit and his wife, paying for everything, in return for exclusive sexual access to Mistress Allwit: he is the true father of the children presumed to be Allwit’s. But Sir Walter is ===== PAGE 327 ===== 1613 planning to discontinue the arrangement and get married: the goldsmith Yellowhammer has agreed to marry his son Tim to a Welsh gentlewoman whom Sir Walter has introduced as his niece, and Sir Walter hopes himself to marry Tim’s sister Moll. Moll has other ideas: her sweetheart Touchwood plans to elope with her, and has Yellowhammer himself make the wedding ring, umaware of the bride’s identity. The elopement is foiled, however: Yellowhammer and Sir Walter intervene just as Touchwood is putting the ring onto Moll’s finger, and Moll is taken home and locked up. Touchwood’s elder brother is poor but virile, and cannot afford to cohabit with his wife for fear that she may produce a legitimate child he will not have the means to support. He has fathered a prolific number of bastards, and refuses to acknowledge one of them when a former paramour, a country wench, brings it to him. She then disposes of the baby by duping two corrupt promoters set to prevent the illicit trade in meat during Lent: she hides the child in a basket and allows them to confiscate it as contraband. Lady Kix’s maid suggests that Touchwood Seniors excessive fertility might solve Sir Oliver’s problems in begetting an heir; Sir Oliver agrees to pay him £400 for the job. Mistress Allwit gives birth to another of Sir Walter’s children. Tim Yellowhammer arrives home from Cambridge and is sent to see his mother at the christening party; he is priggish about being in female company, contrary to university rules, and the women are drunkenly embarrassing. Encouraged to woo his fiancée, Tim finds it heavy going: he tries to converse with her in Latin, she with him in Welsh. Allwit learns of Sir Walter’s plans for Moll, and tries to forestall them by telling Yellowhammer that his prospective son-in-law is a notorious whoremonger, but Yellowhammer is unconcerned by this. Moll disappears from home: she and Touchwood Junior have eloped again, with the help of the London watermen; but her mother drags her home by the hair. Yellowhammer decides to accelerate matters: the wedding is to be tomorrow, and Moll…