Rob. Were I your own,
You could not use me worse than you do.
Mrs Fos. I'll make thy father turn thee out for ever,
Or else I'll make him wish him in his grave.
You'll witness with me, gossip, where I've found him.
Clown. Nay, I'll be sworn upon a book of calico for that.
Rob. It shall not need; I'll not deny that I was with my uncle.
Mrs Fos. And that shall disinherit thee, if thy father
Be an honest man: thou hadst been better
To have been born a viper, and eat thy way
Through thy mother's womb into the world,
Than to tempt my displeasure.
Steph. Thou liest, Xantippe! it had been better
Thou'dst been press'd to death under two Irish rugs,
Than to ride honest Socrates, thy husband, thus,
And abuse his honest child.
Mrs Fos. Out, raggamuffin? dost thou talk? I shall see thee
In Ludgate again shortly.
Steph. Thou liest again: 'twill be at Moorgate, beldam, where I shall see thee in the ditch dancing in a cucking-stool.[73]
Mrs Fos. I'll see thee hanged first.
Steph. Thou liest again.