Hol. Blessing, godfather!
Mul. The devil choke thee! where’s Andrew, thy mother’s man?
Hol. My mother hath none such, forsooth.
Mul. My money—fifteen pounds—plague of all Andrews! who was’t trimm’d me?
Hol. I know not, godfather; only one met me, as I was coming to you, and borrowed my furniture, as he said, for a jest’ sake.
Mul. What kind of fellow? 110
Hol. A thick, elderly, stub-bearded fellow.
Mul. Cocledemoy, Cocledemoy! Raise all the wise
men in the street! I’ll hang him with mine own hands! O wife! some rosa solis.[50]
Mistress Mul. Good husband, take comfort in the Lord; I’ll play the devil, but I’ll recover it. Have a good conscience, ’tis but a week’s cutting[51] in the term!