Wife. Ay, ay, that's the reason you would send him away; you know I have a child every year, and you are afraid that they should come upon the parish at last.
Plume. Lookye there, gentlemen; the honest woman has spoke it at once; the parish had better maintain five children this year, than six or seven the next. That fellow, upon this high feeding, may get you two or three beggars at a birth.
Wife. Lookye, Mr. Captain, the parish shall get nothing by sending him away, for I won't lose my teeming-time, if there be a man left in the parish.
Bal. Send that woman to the house of correction,——and the man——
Kite. I'll take care of him, if you please.
[Takes him down.
Scale. Here, you constable, the next. Set up that black-faced fellow, he has a gunpowder look; what can you say against this man, constable?
Const. Nothing, but that he's a very honest man.
Plume. Pray, gentlemen, let me have one honest man in my company, for the novelty's sake.
Bal. What are you, friend?