Hip. Blue gown!
Lod. She’ll chalk out your way to her now: she beats chalk.
Hip. Where? who dares?—
Lod. Do you know the brick-house of castigation, by the river side[305] that runs by Milan,—the school where they pronounce no letter well but O?
Hip. I know it not.
Lod. Any man that has borne office of constable, or any woman that has fallen from a horse-load to a cart-load,[306] or like an old hen that has had none but rotten eggs in her nest, can direct you to her: there you shall see your punk amongst her back-friends.
There you may have her at your will,
For there she beats chalk, or grinds in the mill[307]
With a whip deedle, deedle, deedle, deedle;
Ah little monkey.
Hip. What rogue durst serve that warrant, knowing I loved her?
Lod. Some worshipful rascal, I lay my life.