Avaunt! begone! thou’st set me on the rack,
I swear, ’tis better to be much abused
Than but to know’t a little.
Brougham.—
How now, my lord.
Puppet.—
What sense had I, the Bill[38] would raise such a dust,
I saw it not—thought it not—it harm’d not me,
I slept the next night well—was gay and merry,
I heard no curses on the peoples’ lips: