Mar. We had best muzzel him, he grows mad.
Elder Lo. I would 'twere lawfull in the next great sickness to have the Dogs spared, those harmless creatures, and knock i'th' head these hot continual plagues, women, that are more infectious. I hope the State will think on't.
Lady. Are you well Sir?
Mar. He looks as though he had a grievous fit o'th' Colick.
Elder Lo. Green-ginger will cure me.
Abig. I'le heat a trencher for him.
Elder Lo. Durty December doe, Thou with a face as old as Erra Pater, such a Prognosticating nose: thou thing that ten years since has left to be a woman, outworn the expectation of a Baud; and thy dry bones can reach at nothing now, but gords or ninepins, pray goe fetch a trencher goe.
Lady. Let him alone, he's crack't.
Abig. I'le see him hang'd first, is a beastly fellow to use a woman of my breeding thus; I marry is he: would I were a man, I'de make him eat his Knaves words!
Elder Lo. Tie your she Otter up, good Lady folly, she stinks worse than a Bear-baiting.