Pet. Let but the truth be known Sir, I beseech ye,
She raves of wenches, and I know not what Sir.
Lan. Go to, thou know'st too well, thou wicked varlet,
Thou instrument of evil.
Peter. As I live Sir,
She is ever thus till dinner.
Fred. Get ye in,
I'le answer you anon Sir.
Peter. By this hand
I'le break your Posset pan. [Exit.
Land. Then by this hood
I'le lock the meat up.
Fred. Now your grief, what is't?
For I can ghesse—
Land. Ye may with shame enough,
If there were shame amongst ye; nothing thought on,
But how ye may abuse my house? not satisfi'd
With bringing home your Bastards to undoe me,
But you must drill your whores here too? my patience
(Because I bear, and bear, and carry all,
And as they say am willing to groan under)
Must be your make-sport now.
Fred. No more of these words,
Nor no more murmurings Lady: for you know
That I know something. I did suspect your anger,
But turn it presently and handsomely,
And bear your self discreetly to this woman,
For such an one there is indeed.
Land. 'Tis well son.