Amin. Oh, help, help, help.
Tib. The Ladies voice! stand off slaves,
What do you intend villains?
I have strength enough left me, if you abuse this soul,
To—
Ma. They would have ravisht her upon my life,
Speak, how was it Lady?
Amin. Forgive 'em, 'twas their hungers.
Tib. Ha, their hungers!
Ma. They would have eaten her.
Tib. O dam'd villains; speak, Is it true?
Sur. I confess an appetite.
Tib. An appetite, I'll fit ye for an appetite.
Are ye so sharp set, that her flesh must serve you?
Murther's a main good service with your Worships;
Since ye would be such Devils,
Why did you not begin with one another handsomly,
And spare the Woman to beget more food on?
Amin. Good Sir.