MATER.
Charm that charm will, he shall not be charmed of me.
THERSITES.
Charm, or, by the mass, with my club I will charm thee.
MATER.
Why, son, art thou so wicked to beat thy mother?
THERSITES.
Yea, that I will, by God's dear brother!
Charm, old witch, in the devil's name,
Or I will send thee to him to be his dame.
MATER.
Alas! what a son have I,
That thus doth order me spitefully!
Cursed be the time that ever I him fed!
I would in my belly he had be dead!