Nis. I do remember it to my grief,
Young Maids were as cold as Cowcumbers
And much of that complexion:
Bawds were abolisht: and, to which misery
It must come again,
There were no Cuckolds,
Well, we had need pray to keep these
Divels from us,
The times grow mischievous.
There he goes, Lord!
Enter one with an Image.
This is a sacriledge I have not heard of:
Would I were gelt, that I might not
Feel what follows.
Age. And I too. You shall see within these
Few years, a fine confusion i'the Countrey: mark it:
Nay, and we grow for to depose the Powers,
And set up Chastity again, well, I have done.
A fine new goddess certainly, whose blessings
Are hunger and hard beds.
Nis. This comes of fulness, a sin too frequent with us
I believe now we shall find shorter commons.
Dor. Would I were married, somewhat has some favour;
The race of Gentry will quite run out now,
'Tis only left to Husbands, if younger Sisters
Take not the greater charity, 'tis lawful.
Age. Well, let come what will come,
I am but one, and as the plague falls,
I'll shape my self: If Women will be honest, I'll be sound.
If the god be not too unmerciful,
I'll take a little still, where I can get it,
And thank him, and say nothing.
Nis. This ill wind yet may blow the City good,
And let them, (if they can) get their own children,
They have hung long enough in doubt, but howsoever, the
old way was the surer, then they had 'em.
Dor. Farewel my Lords, I'll e'en take up what Rent I can
before the day, I fear the year will fall out ill.