Rog. Nay, Sir, he hath over-eaten himself at Breakfast only.
Sir Pat. Alas, and that’s soon done, for he hath a sickly Stomach as well as I, poor Man. Where is Bartholomew the Clerk? he must hold forth then to day.
Rog. Verily he is also disabled: for going forth last Night by your Commandment to smite the Wicked, he received a blow over the Pericranium.—
Sir Pat. Why, how now, Sirrah, Latin! the Language of the Beast! hah—and what then, Sir?
Rog. Which Blow, I doubt, Sir, hath spoil’d both his Praying and his Eating.
Sir Pat. Hah! What a Family’s here? no Prayer to day!
Enter Nurse and Fanny.
Nurs. Nay verily it shall all out, I will be no more the dark Lanthorn to the deeds of Darkness.
Sir Pat. What’s the matter here? [Exit Roger.]
Nurs. Sir, this young Sinner has long been privy to all the daily and nightly meetings between Mr. Lodwick and Isabella; and just now I took her tying a Letter to a String in the Garden, which he drew up to his Window: and I have born it till my Conscience will bear it no longer.