Wild. What's this to thee?
Thou canst not mend [it], if thou beest determin'd
To rob all like a Tyrant, yet take heed
A keener justice do not overtake thee,
And catch you in a Nooze.
Lur. I am no Wood-cock,
He that shall sit down frighted with that foolery
Is not worth pity, let me alone to shuffle,
Thou art for wenching.
Wild. For beauty I, a safe course,
No halter hangs in [my] way, I defie it.
Lur. But a worse fate, a wilful poverty,
For where thou gain'st by one that indeed loves thee,
A thousand will draw from thee, 'tis thy destiny;
One is a kind of weeping cross Jack,
A gentle Purgatory, do not fling at all,
You'll pay the Box so often, till you perish.
Wild. Take you no care for that sir, 'tis my pleasure,
I will imploy my wits a great deal faster
Than you shall do your fingers, and my loves,
If I mistake not, shall prove riper harvest
And handsomer, and come within less danger.
Where's thy young Sister?
Lur. I know not where she is, she is not worth caring for,
She has no wit.
Oh you'd be nibling with her,
She's far enough I hope, I know not where,
She's not worth caring for, a sullen thing,
She wou'd not take my counsel Jack,
And so I parted from her.
Wild. Leave her to her wants?
Lur. I gave her a little money, what I could spare,
She had a mind to th'Countrey, she is turn'd,
By this, some Farriers dairy maid, I may meet her
Riding from Market one day, 'twixt her Dorsers,
If I do, by this hand I wo'not spare
Her butter pence.
Wild. Thou wilt not rob thy Sister.
Lur. She shall account me for her Egs and Cheeses.