An. Alyface. And howe doth our old beldame here, Mage Mumblecrust?
Tib. Talk. Chyde, and finde faultes, and threaten to complaine.
An. Alyface. To make us poore girles shent to hir is small gaine. B iii
M. Mumbl. I dyd neyther chyde, nor complaine, nor threaten.
R. Royster [aside]. It woulde grieve my heart to see one of them beaten. 40
M. Mumbl. I dyd nothyng but byd hir worke and holde hir peace.
Tib. Talk. So would I, if you coulde your clattering ceasse:
But the devill can not make olde trotte[399] holde hir tong.
An. Alyface. Let all these matters passe, and we three sing a song,
So shall we pleasantly bothe the tyme beguile now, 45