Nee. What art thou made on? thou tough villanous vermin.
Will nothing destroy thee?
Sir Gr. Yes, yes, assure your self
Unkind words may do much.
Nee. Why, dost thou want 'em?
I've e'en consum'd my spleen to help thee to 'em:
Tell me what sort of words they be would speed thee?
I'll see what I can do yet.
Sir Gr. I'm much beholding to you,
You're willing to bestow huge pains upon me.
Nee. I should account nothing too much to rid thee.
Sir Gr. I wonder you'd not offer to destroy me,
All the while your Uncle was here.
Neece. Why there thou betray'st thy house; we of the Old-Crafts
Were born to more wit than so.
Sir Greg. I wear your favor here.
Neece. Would it might rot thy arme off: if thou knewst
With what contempt thou hast it, what hearts bitterness,
How many cunning curses came along with it,
Thoud'st quake to handle it.
Sir Greg. A pox, tak't again then;
Who'd be thus plagu'd of all hands?