Enter Mistress Foster and Clown.
Mrs Fos. O friend and gossip, where are you? I am
O'erladen with my griefs, and but in your bosom
I know not where to ease me.
Clown. I had rather
Help you to a close-stool, an't please you. [Aside.
Mrs Fos. Ne'er had woman more sinister fate;
All ominous stars were in conjunction
Even at my birth, and do still attend me.
Doc. This is a perfect contrary indeed.
Wid. What ails you, woman?
Mrs Fos. Unless seven witches had set spells about me,
I could not be so cross'd; never at quiet,
Never a happy hour, not a minute's content.
Doc. You hurt yourself most with impatience.
Mrs Fos. Ay, ay, physicians 'minister with ease,
Although the patient do receive in pain:
Would I could think but of one joyful hour!
Clown. You have had two husbands to my knowledge; and if you had not one joyful hour between both, I would you were hanged, i' faith. [Aside.