Hack. O, madam Termagant, are you here? Justice, father Aldo, justice!
Aldo. Why, what is the matter, daughter Hackney?
Hack. She has violated the law of nations; for yesterday she inveigled my own natural cully from me, a married lord, and made him false to my bed, father.
Term. Come, you are an illiterate whore. He is my lord now; and, though you call him fool, it is well known he is a critic, gentlewoman. You never read a play in all your life; and I gained him by my wit, and so I'll keep him.
Hack. My comfort is, I have had the best of him; 074 he can take up no more, till his father dies: And so, much good may do you with my cully, and my clap into the bargain.
Aldo. Then there is a father for your child, my lord's son and heir by Mr Caster. But henceforward, to preserve peace betwixt you, I ordain, that you shall ply no more in my daughter Hackney's quarters: You shall have the city, from White-Chapel to Temple-Bar, and she shall have to Covent-Garden downwards: At the play-houses, she shall ply the boxes, because she has the better face; and you shall have the pit, because you can prattle best out of a vizor mask.
Mrs Pad. Then all friends, and confederates. Now let us have father Aldo's delight, and so adjourn the house.
Aldo. Well said, daughter.—Lift up your voices, and sing like nightingales, you tory rory jades. Courage, I say; as long as the merry pence hold out, you shall none of you die in Shoreditch.
Enter Woodall.
A hey, boys, a hey! here he comes, that will swinge you all! down, you little jades, and worship him; it is the genius of whoring.