MISTRESS GALLIPOT

'Thad been a good phrase for a Cooks wife sir. Nay you shall ha'te sir, I have filled it for you. Be not forgetful; respect my credit; seem strange; Art and Wit makes a fool of suspicion:—pray be wary. Make your way wisely then. (ners, Whats the matter now sir? What's the sum would pleasure you sir? Though you deserve nothing less at my hands. Some will not stick to say she's a man And some both man and woman. Nay ask not me Master Tiltyard. To Hogsden husband. I'm not ready husband. What a proving keep you, I think the baby would have a teat it kyes so, pray be not so found of me, leave your City humours, I'm vexed at you to see how Like a calf you come bleating after me. Then up and ride i'faith. Such and ass as you: hoyda, you're best turn mid wife, or Physician: you're a Pothecary already, but I'm none of your drugs. Must you be prying into a woman's secrets: say you? What? I cannot have a qualm come upon me but your teeth waters, till your nose hang over it. Your love? your love is all words; give me deeds, I cannot abide a man thats too found ouerme, so coo kish; thou dost not know how to handle a woman in her kind, Handle a fools head of your own,—fih—fih. Now fie how you vex me, I cannot abide these aperne husbands: such cotqueans, you overdo your things, they become you scurvily. Fie, fie, fie. As your wit has done: now Master Laxton show your head, what news from you? would any husband suspect that a woman crying, Buy any scurui-grasse, should bring love letters amongst her herbs to his wife, pretty trick, fine con ueyance? had jealousy a thousand eyes, a silly woman with scur uy-grasse blinds them all; Laxton with bays crown I thy wit for this, it deserves praise. This makes me affect thee more, this proves thee wise, Lack what poor shift is love forced to devise? (toth' point) Alas poor Gentleman, troth I pity him, How shall I raise this money? thirty pound? 'Tis thirty sure, a 3 before and 0, I know his threes too well; my childbed linen? Shall I pawn that for him? then if my mark Be known I am undone; it may be thought My husband's bankrout: which way shall I turn? Laxton, what with my own fears, and thy wants, I'm needle betwixt two adamants. Oh beshrew your heart. O would thou hadst no eyes to see the downfall of me and thy self: I'm for ever, for ever I'm undone. Would I could tear My very heart in pieces: for my soul Lies on the rack of shame, that tortures me Beyond a woman's suffering. When the full sea of pleasure and content seemed to flow over me. O no. 'Tis worse, 'tis worse. Would all we had were swallowed in the waves, Rather then both should be the scorn of slaves. O my deer husband, Where once I thought my self a fixed star, Placed only in the heaven of thine arms, I fear now I shall prove a wanderer, O Laxton, Laxton, is it then my fate To be by thee orethrowne? I shall sure run mad. So black a day (poor wretch) went over thee never. Umh. Umh, umh. Worse, and worse still, You embrace a mischief, to prevent and ill. Thirty good sweet Of and ill bargain lets save what we can, I'll pay it him with my tears, he was a man When first I knew him of a meek spirit, All goodness is not yet dread up I hope. No, but I will lay something anon. I hope I shall: farewell good sister: sweet Master Goshawk. Thou art worthy of my heart thou bui'st it dearly. O, husband see he comes. O pick no quarrels gentle sir, my husband Is not a man of weapon, as you are, He knows all, I have opened all before him, concerning you. Beside a story of your death was read Each minute to me. Upon my knees. With all my heart;—how dost thou Like my wit? Is't possible his smooth face should have wrinc kles in't, and we not see them? Troth firra thou sayest true. Yes, when his arrows have flin'e towards Isling tun, his eyes have shot clean contrary towards Pimlico. O fie upon him, if he double once he's not for me. alas I think he takes his mark amiss in thee. Very good. That were wholesome. So, so. Such another lame Gelding offered to carry me through thick and thin, (Laxton sirrah) but I am rid of him now. Then they cog. And yet when we have donc our best, al's but put into a riven dish, we are but frumpt at and libeled upon. Hush sirrah, Goshawk flutters. I believe you'll eat of a cods head of your own dressing, before you reach half way thither. Yes, I thank my ears. At what weapon? No. Shall? away soused Sturgeon, half fish, half flesh. alas poor Laxton, I think thy tail's cut alrea die: your worst; Push; your Western png. And that in sinful Brainford they would commit That which our lips did water at sir,—would? Speak, are these lies? What a 100 pound? he gets none: what a 100 pound? A 100 pound? alas; take sir but threescore, Do you seek my undoing? Do thy worst, Will fourscore stop thy mouth? You're a slave, Thou Cheat, I'll now tear money from thy throat, Husband lay hold on yonder tauny-coate. Husband, I plucked (when he had tempted me to think well of him) Get feathers from thy wings, to make him fly more lofty. He having wasted them, comes now for more, Using me as a ruffian does his whore, Whose sin keeps him in breath: by heaven I vow, Thy bed he never wronged, more then he does now. The same you had at first sir. Had you no other vengeance to throw down, But even in heighth of all my joys? O. O he's born to be my undoer, This hand which thou callest thine, to him was given, To him was I made sure ith sighed of heaven. Yes, yes, before I was to thee contracted, to him I swore, Since last I saw him twelve months three times told, The Moon hath drawn through her light silver bow, For over the seas he went, and it was said, (But Rumor lies) that he in France was dead. But he's alive, o he's alive, he sent, That letter to me, which in rage I rend, Swearing with oaths most damnably to have me, Or tear me from this bosom, o heavens save me, O me, heavens grant it would, Yet now my senses are set more in tune, He writ, as I remember in his letter, That he in riding up and down had spent, (Ere he could find me) thirty pounds, send that, Stand not on thirty with him. Dispatch him hence sweet husband. Art sure of it? Troth mere shallow things. May not we cover our bore faces with masks As well as you cover your bald heads with hats? Rarely. Yes. In truth I do, Not for the world; To have you to stab him. What's the matter husband? Dear husband, pardon me, I did dissemble, Told thee I was his precontracted wife, When letters came from him for thirty pound, I had no shift but that. Suppose my case were yours, what would you do. At such a pinch, such batteries, such assaults Oh father, mother, kindred, to dissolve The knot you tied, and to be bound to him? How could you shift this storm off? I have, I have. Is then that bird of yours (Master Goshawk) so wild? Then they droop.