Cit. I prethee sweet Hony-suckle, be content.
Wife. Give me such words that am a Gentlewoman born, hang him hoary Rascal. Get me some drink George, I am almost molten with fretting: now beshrew his Knaves heart for it.
Old mer. Play me a light Lavalto: come, be frollick, fill the good fellows wine.
Mist. mer. Why Master Merri-thought, are you disposed to make me wait here: you'll open I hope, i'll fetch them that shall open else.
Old mer. Good woman, if you will sing, I'll give you something, if not—
SONG.
You are no love for me Marget, I am no love for you.
Come aloft Boys, aloft.
Mist. mer. Now a Churles fart in your teeth Sir: Come Mick, we'll not trouble him, a shall not ding us i'th' teeth with his bread and his broth, that he shall not: come boy, I'll provide for thee, I warrant thee: wee'll go to Master Venterwels the Merchant, I'll get his letter to mine Host of the Bell in Waltham, there I'll place thee with the Tapster, will not that do well for thee Mick? and let me alone for that old Cuckoldly Knave your father, I'll use him in his kind, I warrant ye.
Wife. Come George, where's the beer?