Old. How, lady!
Free. Ha! ha!—
Jer. Hey, brave mother! use all suitors thus, for my sake.
Wid. Thou withered, hobbling, distorted cripple; nay, thou art a cripple all over: wouldst thou make me the staff of thy age, the crutch of thy decrepidness? me—
Free. Well said, widow! Faith, thou wouldst make a man love thee now, without dissembling.
Wid. Thou senseless, impertinent, quibbling, drivelling, feeble, paralytic, impotent, fumbling, frigid nincompoop!
Jer. Hey, brave mother, for calling of names, i'fac!
Wid. Wouldst thou make a caudle-maker, a nurse of me? can't you be bedrid without a bed-fellow? won't your swan-skins, furs, flannels, and the scorched trencher, keep you warm there? would you have me your Scotch warming-pan,[108] with a pox to you! me—
Old. O Heavens!