Wife. Marry if he be George, I'll make bold to tell him he's an ingrant old man, to use his bed-fellow so scurvily.
Cit. What how does he use her Honey?
Wife. Marry come up sir sauce-box, I think you'll take his part, will you not? Lord how hot are you grown: you are a fine man an you had a fine Dog, it becomes you sweetly.
Cit. Nay, prethee Nell chide not: for as I am an honest man, and a true Christian Grocer, I do not like his doings.
Wife. I cry you mercy then George, you know we are all frail, and full of infirmities. Dee hear Master Merri-thought, may I crave a word with you?
Old Mer. within. Strike up lively lads.
Wife. I had not thought in truth, Master Merri-thought, that a man of your age and discretion (as I may say) being a Gentleman, and therefore known by your gentle conditions, could have used so little respect to the weakness of his wife: for your wife is your own flesh, the staff of your age, your yoke-fellow, with whose help you draw through the myre of this transitory world: Nay, she's your own rib. And again—
Old Mer. I come not hither for thee to teach,
I have no pulpit for thee to preach,
I would thou hadst kist me under the breech,
As thou art a Lady gay.
Wife. Marry with a vengeance, I am heartily sorry for the poor Gentlewoman: but if I were thy wife, i'faith gray-beard, i'faith—