Dog. Bow, wow! I’ll have it now.
M. Saw. I am dried up
With cursing and with madness, and have yet
No blood to moisten these sweet lips of thine.
Stand on thy hind-legs up—kiss me, my Tommy,
And rub away some wrinkles on my brow
By making my old ribs to shrug for joy
Of thy fine tricks. What hast thou done? let’s tickle.
Hast thou struck the horse lame as I bid thee?
Dog. Yes;
And nipped the sucking child.
M. Saw. Ho, ho, my dainty,
My little pearl! no lady loves her hound,
Monkey, or paroquet, as I do thee.
Dog. The maid has been churning butter nine hours; but it shall not come.
M. Saw. Let ’em eat cheese and choke.
Dog. I had rare sport
Among the clowns i’ th’ morris.
M. Saw. I could dance
Out of my skin to hear thee. But, my curl-pate,
That jade, that foul-tongued whore, Nan Ratcliffe,
Who, for a little soap licked by my sow,
Struck and almost had lamed it;—did not I charge thee
To pinch that queen to th’ heart?
Dog. Bow, wow, wow! look here else.
Enter Ann Ratcliffe mad.