Cat. He a soldier? a pander, a dog that will lick up sixpence: do ye hear, you master swines’-snout, how long is’t since you held the door for me, and cried to’t again, No body comes! ye rogue, you?
Lod., Ast., &c. Ha, ha, ha! you’re smelt out again, Bots.
Bots. Pox ruin her nose for’t! an I be not revenged for this—um, ye bitch!
Lod. D’ye hear ye, madam? why does your ladyship swagger thus? you’re very brave,[327] methinks.
Cat. Not at your cost, master cod’s-head;
Is any man here blear-eyed to see me brave?
Ast. Yes, I am,
Because good clothes upon a whore’s back
Is like fair painting upon a rotten wall.
Cat. Marry muff master whoremaster, you come upon me with sentences.
Ber. By this light, has small sense for’t.
Lod. O fie, fie, do not vex her! And yet methinks a creature of more scurvy conditions should not know what a good petticoat were.
Cat. Marry come out, you’re so busy about my petticoat, you’ll creep up to my placket, an ye could but attain the honour: but an the outsides offend your rogueships, look o’the lining, ’tis silk.