Feth. My Heart begins to fail me plaguily—would I could see ’em a little at a Distance before they come slap dash upon a Man. [Peeping.
Hah!—Mercy upon us!—What’s yonder!—Ah, Ned, my Monster is as big as the Whore of Babylon—Oh I’m in a cold Sweat— [Blunt pulls him to peep, and both do so.
Oh Lord! she’s as tall as the St. Christopher in Notre-dame at Paris, and the little one looks like the Christo upon his Shoulders—I shall ne’er be able to stand the first Brunt.
Blunt. ’Dsheartlikins, whither art going? [Pulls him back.
Feth. Why only—to—say my Prayers a little—I’ll be with thee presently. [Offers to go, he pulls him.
Blunt. What a Pox, art thou afraid of a Woman—
Feth. Not of a Woman, Ned, but of a She [Gargantua], I am of a Hercules in Petticoats.
Blunt. The less Resemblance the better. ’Shartlikins, I’d rather mine were a Centaur than a Woman: No, since my Naples Adventure, I am clearly for your Monster.
Feth. Prithee, Ned, there’s Reason in all things—
Blunt. But villainous Woman—’Dshartlikins, stand your Ground, or I’ll nail you to’t: Why, what a Pox are you so quezy stomach’d, a Monster won’t down with you, with a hundred thousand Pound to boot. [Pulling him.