Mary. Whose sheep are these, whose oxen? The Lady Plenty's.
Plenty. A plentiful pox upon you.
New Way, IV., 2, 2:
Did not Master Marrall
(He has marr'd all I am sure) strictly command us?
New Way, IV., 2, 68:
No, though the great Turk came, instead of turkies
To beg any favour, I am inexorable.
IV., 3, 133:
Vitelli. Your intent to win me
To be of your belief, proceeded from
Your fear to die. Can there be strength in that
Religion, that suffers us to tremble
At that which every day, nay hour, we haste to?
Donusa. This is unanswerable, and there's something tells me
I err in my opinion.
IV., V. Cf. especially IV., 1, 138: