Mrs. Sul. Well, good woman, go on.
Worn. I have come seventeen long mail to have a cure for my husband's sore leg.
Mrs. Sul. Your husband! what, woman, cure your husband!
Worn. Ay, poor man, for his sore leg won't let him stir from home.
Mrs. Sul. There, I confess, you have given me a reason. Well, good woman, I 'll tell you what you must do. You must lay your husband's leg upon a table, and with a chopping-knife you must lay it open as broad as you can, then you must takeout the bone, and beat the flesh soundly with a rolling-pin, then take salt, pepper, cloves, mace, and ginger, some sweet-herbs, and season it very well, then roll it up like brawn, and put it into the oven for two hours.
Worn. Heavens reward your ladyship!—I have two little babies too that are piteous bad with the graips, an't please ye. [30]
Mrs. Sul. Put a little pepper and salt in their bellies, good woman.
Enter Lady Bountiful.
I beg your ladyship's pardon for taking your business out of your hands; I have been a-tampering here a little with one of your patients. Lady Boun. Come, good woman, don't mind this mad creature; I am the person that you want, I suppose. What would you have, woman?
Mrs. Sul. She wants something for her husband's sore leg. [40]