And as I am a true Vicar,
Hark in your ear, hark softly—
Bar.
No, no bribery.
I'le have my swindge upon thee; Sirra? Rascal?
You Lenten Chaps, you that lay sick, and mockt me,
Mockt me abominably, abused me lewdly,
I'le make thee sick at heart, before I leave thee,
And groan, and dye indeed, and be worth nothing,
Not worth a blessing, nor a Bell to knell for thee,