There is no drop of blood hid in these veins,
But I remember well belongs to you,
That brought me forth, and would be glad for you
To rip them all again, and let it out.
Mist. Mer. I'faith I had sorrow enough for thee, God knows; but I'll hamper thee well enough: get thee in, thou vagabond, get thee in, and learn of thy brother Michael.
Old Mer. [within.] "Nose, nose, jolly red nose,
And who gave thee this jolly red nose?"
Mist. Mer. Hark, my husband he's singing and hoiting,
And I'm fain to cark and care, and all little enough.
Husband, Charles, Charles Merry-thought!