Fire and brimstone, lightning and hail!
I befoul my tail out of pure ire;
But to a remedy I am none the nigher.
Yonder is her uncle; I am to cook this but will ye tell me how?
I had broken her neck long ere now,
But that the prayers of this holy priest
To make hard my way have not ceased.
An I might I would carry him straight to Lucifer.
THE BURGHER
Look, sir, I do see her somewhat stir.