MOPSA.
He hath paid you all he promised you. Maybe he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.
CLOWN.
Is there no manners left among maids? Will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? Is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kiln-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you must be tittle-tattling before all our guests? ’Tis well they are whispering. Clamour your tongues, and not a word more.
MOPSA.
I have done. Come, you promised me a tawdry lace and a pair of sweet gloves.
CLOWN.
Have I not told thee how I was cozened by the way and lost all my money?
AUTOLYCUS.
And indeed, sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary.
CLOWN.
Fear not thou, man. Thou shalt lose nothing here.
AUTOLYCUS.
I hope so, sir; for I have about me many parcels of charge.
CLOWN.
What hast here? Ballads?
MOPSA.
Pray now, buy some. I love a ballad in print alife, for then we are sure they are true.
AUTOLYCUS.
Here’s one to a very doleful tune. How a usurer’s wife was brought to bed of twenty money-bags at a burden, and how she longed to eat adders’ heads and toads carbonadoed.