A Pox on your Booke: I haue beene paid ifaith,
You haue set all the women in the Towne in an vprore.
Mis. Why, what’s the matter, Swash?
Clow. Ne’r was poore Swash, so lasht, and pasht,
And crasht and dasht, as I haue beene,
Looke to your selfe, they’re vp in armes for you.
Mis. Why, Haue they weapons, Swash?
Clow. Weapons, Sir, I, Ile be sworne they haue.
And cutting ones, I felt the smart of ’em,
From the loines to the legs, from the head to th’ hams,