Viola. I pray forgive me, and let me have no wages this first quarter.
Moth. Go whimling, and fetch two or three grating loaves out of the Kitching, to make Ginger-bread of, 'tis such an untoward thing. [Exit Viola.
Alex. She's somewhat simple indeed, she knew not what a kimnel was, she wants good nurture mightily.
Moth. My Son tells me, Alexander, that this young widow means to sojourn here, she offers largely for her board, I may offer her good cheer, prethee make a step i'th' morning down to the Parsonage for some [Pigeons;] what are you mad there? what noise is that? are you at bowls within? why do you whine?
Enter Viola weeping.
Vio. I have done another fault, I beseech you sweet Mistriss forgive me.
Vio. As I was reaching for the bread that lay upon the shelf, I have thrown down the minc'd meat, that should have made the pies to morrow.
Moth. Get thee out of my house, thou filthy destroying Harlot, thou, I'll not keep thee an hour longer.
Vio. Good Mistriss, beat me rather for my fault, as much as it deserves, I do not know whither to go.