All.  Ha, ha.

Elder Lo.  How now?

Lady.  I thank you fine fool for your most fine plot; this was a subtile one, a stiff device to have caught Dottrels with.  Good senceless Sir, could you imagine I should swound for you, and know your self to be an arrant ass?  I, a discovered one.  ’Tis quit I thank you Sir.  Ha, ha, ha.

Mar.  Take heed Sir, she may chance to swound again.

All.  Ha, ha, ha.

Abi.  Step to her Sir, see how she changes colour.

Elder Lo.  I’le goe to hell first, and be better welcom.  I am fool’d, I do confess it, finely fool’d, Ladie, fool’d Madam, and I thank you for it.

Lady.  Faith ’tis not so much worth Sir:  But if I knew when you come next a burding, I’le have a stronger noose to hold the Woodcock.

All.  Ha, ha, ha.

Elder Lo.  I am glad to see you merry, pray laugh on.

Mar.  H’ad a hard heart that could not laugh at you Sir, ha, ha, ha.

Lady.  Pray Sister do not laugh, you’le anger him,
And then hee’l rail like a rude Costermonger,
That School-boys had couzened of his Apples,
As loud and senceless.

Elder Lo.  I will not rail.

Mar.  Faith then let’s hear him Sister.

Elder Lo.  Yes, you shall hear me.

Lady.  Shall we be the better by it then?

Eld.  L.  No, he that makes a woman better by his words, I’le have him Sainted:  blows will not doe it.

Lady.  By this light hee’ll beat us.

Elder Lo.  You do deserve it richly, And may live to have a Beadle doe it.

Lady.  Now he rails.

Elder Lo.  Come scornfull Folly, If this be railing, you shall hear me rail.

Lady.  Pray put it in good words then.

Elder Lo.  The worst are good enough for such a trifle, Such a proud piece of Cobweblawn.

Lady.  You bite Sir?

Elder Lo.  I would till the bones crackt, and I had my will.

Mar.  We had best muzzel him, he grows mad.

Elder Lo.  I would ’twere lawfull in the next great sickness to have the Dogs spared, those harmless creatures, and knock i’th’ head these hot continual plagues, women, that are more infectious.  I hope the State will think on’t.

Lady.  Are you well Sir?

Mar.  He looks as though he had a grievous fit o’th’ Colick.

Elder Lo.  Green-ginger will cure me.

Abig.  I’le heat a trencher for him.

Elder Lo.  Durty December doe, Thou with a face as old as Erra Pater, such a Prognosticating nose:  thou thing that ten years since has left to be a woman, outworn the expectation of a Baud; and thy dry bones can reach at nothing now, but gords or ninepins, pray goe fetch a trencher goe.