Steph. And what says your father yet, coz?
Rob. I'll tell you that in your ear.
Enter Mistress Foster, Widow, and Clown.
Mrs Fos. Nay, I pray you, friend, bear me company a little this way; for into this dicing-house I saw my good son-in-law enter, and 'tis odds but he meets his uncle here.
Wid. You cannot tire me, gossip, in your company; 'tis the best affliction I have to see you impatient.
Mrs Fos. Ay, ay, you may make mirth of my sorrow.
Clown. We have hunted well, mistress; do you not see the hare's in sight?
Mrs Fos. Did not I tell you so? ay, ay, there's good counsel between you; the one would go afoot to hell, the other the horseway.
Rob. Mother, I am sorry you have trod this path.
Mrs Fos. Mother? hang thee, wretch! I bore thee not;
But many afflictions I have borne for thee:
Wert thou mine own, I'd see thee stretch'd (a handful),
And put thee a coffin into the cart
Ere thou shouldst vex me thus.