Coc. So now, figo! worshipful Mall Faugh and I will munch; cheaters and bawds go together like washing and wringing. 140
[Exit.
Mistress Mul. Beshrew his heart for his labour, how everything about[72] me quivers. What, Christian! my hat and aporn:[73] here, take my sleeves. And how I tremble! so I’ll gossip it now for’t, that’s certain; here has been revolutions and false fires indeed.
Enter Mulligrub.
Mul. Whither now?—what’s the matter with you now?—whither are you a-gadding?
Mistress Mul. Come, come, play the fool no more. Will you go?
Mul. Whither, in the rank name of madness—whither?
Mistress Mul. Whither?—why to Master Burnish,[74] to eat the jole of salmon. Lord, how strange you make it! 153
Mul. Why so?—why so?
Mistress Mul. Why so? Why, did not you send the self-same fellow for the jole of salmon that had the cup?