Grace. What party?
Moll. The knight, Sir John Love-all.
Grace. Hence, lewd impudent!
I know not what to term thee, man or woman,
For, Nature, shaming to acknowledge thee
For either, hath produc'd thee to the world
Without a sex: some say thou art a woman,
Others a man: and many, thou art both
Woman and man, but I think rather neither,
Or man and horse, as the old centaurs were feign'd.
Moll. Why, how now, Mistress What-lack-ye? are you so fine, with a pox? I have seen a woman look as modestly as you, and speak as sincerely, and follow the friars as zealously,[88] and she has been as sound a jumbler as e'er paid for't: 'tis true, Mistress Fi'penny, I have sworn to leave this letter.
Grace. D'ye hear, you Sword-and-target (to speak in your own key), Mary Ambree, Long Meg.[89]
Thou that in thyself, methinks, alone
Look'st like a rogue and whore under a hedge;
Bawd, take your letter with you, and begone,
When next you come, my husband's constable,
And Bridewell is hard by: you've a good wit,
And can conceive——
Enter Seldom, with hangers.
Sel. Look you, here are the hangers.
Moll. Let's see them.
Fie, fie! you have mistook me quite,
[Exit.
Enter Lord Proudly.
Grace. Here's my Lord Proudly.