“William, shall we have pudding to-day, or flapjacks?”
“Flapjacks an it please thee, Anne, or a pudding for that matter; or what thou wilt, good woman, so thou come not betwixt me and my thought.”
Exit Mistress Anne, with strongly accented closing of the door, and murmurs to the effect: “Ay, marry, ’tis well for thee to talk as if thou hadst no stomach to fill. We poor wives must swink for our masters, while they sit in their arm-chairs, growing as great in the girth through laziness as that ill-mannered old fat man, William, hath writ of in his books of players’ stuff. One had as well meddle with a porkpen, which hath thorns all over him, as try to deal with William when his eyes be rolling in that mad way.”
William—writing once more—after an exclamation in strong English of the older pattern,—
“Whether ’tis nobler—nobler—nobler—
To do what? O these women! these women! to have puddings or flapjacks! Oh!
“Whether ’tis nobler—in the mind—to suffer
The slings—and arrows—of—
Oh! Oh! these women! I’ll e’en step over to the parson’s, and have a cup of sack with his reverence, for methinks Master Hamlet hath forgot that which was just now on his lips to speak.”
The Poet at the Breakfast-Table, 1872, pp. 10-11.