2 A dampish air indeed.

Rut. Blow your face tenderly, Your nose will ne’re endure it:  mercy o’ me, What are men chang’d to here? is my nose fast yet?  Me thinks it shakes i’th’ hilts:  pray tell me gentlemen, How long is’t since you flourisht here?

3 Not long since.

Rut. Move your self easily, I see you are tender, Nor long endured.

2 The labour was so much Sir, And so few to perform it—­

Rut. Must I come to this?  And draw my legs after me like a lame Dog?  I cannot run away, I am too feeble:  Will you sue for this place again Gentlemen?

1 No truly Sir, the place has been too warm for our complexions.  We have enough on’t, rest you merry Sir, We came but to congratulate your fortune, You have abundance.

3 Bear your fortune soberly, And so we leave you to the next fair Lady. [Ex. the 3.

Rut. Stay but a little, and I’le meet you Gentlemen,
At the next Hospital:  there’s no living thus,
Nor am I able to endure it longer,
With all the helps and heats that can be given me,
I am at my trot already:  they are fair and young
Most of the women that repair unto me,
But they stick on like Burs, shake me like Feathers.

Enter Sulpitia.

More Women yet? 
Would I were honestly married
To any thing that had but half a face,
And not a groat to keep her, nor a smock,
That I might be civilly merry when I pleased,
Rather than labouring in these Fulling-mills.

Sul. By this the spell begins to work:  you are lusty, I see you bear up bravely yet.

Rut. Do you hear Lady, Do not make a game-bear of me, to play me hourly, And fling on all your whelps; it would not hold; Play me with some discretion; to day one course, And two dayes hence another.

Sulp. If you be so angry Pay back the mony I redeem’d you at And take your course, I can have men enough:  You have cost me a hundred crowns since you came hither, In Broths and strength[n]ing Caudles; till you do pay me, If you will eat and live, you shall endeavour, I’le chain you to’t else.

Rut. Make me a Dog-kennel,
I’le keep your house and bark, and feed on bare bones,
And be whipt out o’ doors,
Do you mark me Lady? whipt,
I’le eat old shoes.

Enter Duarte.

Dua. In this house I am told
There is a stranger, of a goodly person,
And such a one there was; if I could see him,
I yet remember him.

Sulp. Your business Sir, If it be for a woman, ye are couzen’d, I keep none here. [Exit.

Dua. Certain this is the Gentleman; The very same.

Rut. Death, if I had but mony,
Or any friend to bring me from this bondage,
I would Thresh, set up a Cobler’s shop, keep Hogs,
And feed with ’em, sell Tinder-boxes,
And Knights of Ginger-bread, Thatch for three
Half pence a day, and think it Lordly,
From this base Stallion trade:  why does he eye me,
Eye me so narrowly?