GOSHAWK

I Like the prospect best. I stoop to your lure sir. So sparing and so wary, What then could vex his father so. Is that she. O sir 'tis many a good woman's fortune, when her husband turns bankrout, to begin with pipes and set up again. Come th'art familiarly acquainted there, I grope that. Go th'art a mystical lecher. May take up and ell of pure smock; away go, 'tis the closest striker. Life I think he continued ̄ mits venery 40 foot deep, no men aware on't, I Like a palpable smockster go to work so openly, with the tricks of art, that I'm as apparently seen as a naked boy in a vial, & were it not for a gift of treachery that I have in me to betray my friend when ̄ he puts most trust in me (mass yonder he is too—) and by his injury to make good my access to her, I should appear as defective in courting, as a Farmers son the first day of his feather, that does nothing at Court, but woe the hangings and glass windows for a month toga there, and some broken waiting woman for ever after. I find those imperfections in my venery, that were't not for flattery and falsehood, I should want discourse and impudence, and he that wants impudence among women, is worthy to be kicked out at beds feet.—He shall not see me yet. Rich smoke; that's 6. pence a pipe is't? O what else sir, he's perfection it self, full of man- But not and acre of ground belonging to they. But above all religious: he prayeth daily upon elder brother's. Thou hast the cowardliest trick to come before a men face and strangle him ere he be aware, I could find in my heart to make a quarrel in earnest. He were ill to make a lawyer, he dispatches three at once. Shall we taste a pipe on't? What not Jack dapper. No your a horder, you ingrose bith ounces. What say you to this gear. Life yonders Mol. honest Mol. A pipe of good tobacco Mol. Nay Moll puh, prithee hark, but one word i'faith. Now thy judgement Moll, is't not good? Why Mol, Mol. 'Tis the maddest fantasticalst girl:—I never knew so much flesh and so much nimbleness put together. No trouble at all, 'tis a pleasure to me to join things together. Nay more I tell you in private, he keeps a whore ith suburbs. I had rather see your legs, and begin that way. There's ways enough to cry quite with him, hark in thine ear. Hark the bell rings, come Gentlemen. Jack Dapper where shals all munch. Is your wife ill sir? Yes sweet Master Tiltyard; sirrah Rosamond I hold my life Gallipot hath vexed his wife. We shall have your face painted with the same read soon at night, when your husband comes from his rubbers in a false alley; thou wilt not believe me that his bowls run with a wrong bias. What if I bring thee, where thou shalt see him stand at rack and manger? Shall thou and I ride our journey then. No more; come Master Tiltyard, shall we leap into the stirrups with our women, and amble home? How now, are you ready? Us? why, must she make one i'the voyage? 'Foot, how shall I find water, to keep these two mills going? Well since you'll needs be clapped under hatches, if I sail not with you both till all split, hang me up at the main yard, & duck me; it's but lickering them both soundly, & then you shall see their cork heals fly up high, Like two swan's when their tails are above water, and their long necks under water, diving to catch gudgions: come, come, oars stand rea die, the tide's with us, on with those false faces, blow winds and thou shalt take thy husband, casting out his net to catch fresh Salmon at Brainford. So, so, follow close, pin as you go. Come, ha'you done? Sfoot Rosamond, your husband. welcome, Silence if you love me. S'footeyov'l spoil all. Are you both mad? As you regard my credit. Belike sir she's not well; best leave her. I sweat, wo'ld I lay in cold harbour. S'heart will you undo me? Keep thee there girl:—then! O brave girls: worth Gold. What do you mean sir? By heaven that man I know not. Will you not have all out? By heaven I know no man beneath the moon Should do you wrong, but if I had his name, I'de print it in text letters. Mine own shame me confounds: Pardon me. No:—you teach me a trick for that. No. Laxton is't not?—what fagary is this? He has had the better Chirurgeon, Master Greenewit, is your wit so raw as to play no better a partly then a Somners? It's impossible. They marry close, thei'r gone, but none knows whither. In vain you flatter him sir Alexander. Will you undo your self by doing, And show a prodigal trick in your old days? Of and old knight faith. Life, here's Mol. How dost thou Jack? Why sir, take comfort now, there's no such matter, No Priest will marry her, sir, for a woman, While that shape's on, and it was never known, Two men were married and conjoined in one: Your son hath made some shift to love another. Say he should take a wench with her smock-dowry, No portion with her, but her lips and arms? A proper lusty presence sir. Zounds now hell roars.