Hus. Content thee, content thee, Christabel.
Wife. Yes, surely, that's a trim word; but when, trow you, had I it? As I am an honest woman, I have been this goodman Fumbler's wife so many years, and he never yet gave me content. 'Tis such a dry pilchard, he deserves nothing more than basting.
Hus. Fie, Christabel! fie, for shame! hold thy trattles; is it my fault if thou be barren?
Wife. Barren, you cods-head! Lies the fault there, you island cur! Nay, all the parish will witness for me that I was not barren before I met with you. Barren, stitchel![175] that shall not serve thy turn. In plain terms, Jocelin, since thou cannot content me one way, thou shalt another.
Hus. What would my duck have?
Wife. What, my drake, the law will give me.
Hus. Law!
Wife. Yes, you wizard.[176] I have already fed a glib-tongued parrot, with a coif on his head, that will trounce you.
Hus. What have I done, my malmsey?
Wife. Nay, your doing nothing, you dumpling, has brought you into this pickle. The short and the long on't is this, I will have ale-money.[177]