University of Virginia Library

Scena III.

To him Plotwell. and Roseclap.
Plotw.
Sir, I am sorry such a light offence
Should make such deep impressions in you; But that
which more afflicts me then the losse of my
Great hopes, is, that y'are likely to be abus'd, Sir,
Strangely abus'd, Sir, by one Baneswright. I heare
You are to marry.

War.
Did you heare so?

Plotw.
Madam Aurelia's woman.

War.
What of her, Sir?

Plotw.
Why, Sir, I thought it duty to informe you,
That you were better match a ruind Bawd;
One ten times cured by sweating, and the Tub,
Or paind now with her fiftieth Ach, whom not
The power of Vsquebaugh, or heat of feavers
Quickens enough to wish; one of such looks,
That Judges of Assize, without more proofe,
Suspect, arraigne, and burn for witchcraft.

War.
Why pray?

Plotw.
For she being past all motions, impotence
Will be a kinde of chastity, and you
Might have her to your selfe, but here is one
Knowes this to be—

War.
An arrant whore?

Ros.
I see
You have heard of her, Sir; Indeed she has
Done pennance thrice.

War.
How say you, pennance?

Rosc.
Yes, Sir,
And should have sufferd—

War.
Carting should she not?

Ros.
The Marshall had her, Sir.

War.
I sweat, I sweat.

Ros.
She's of knowne practice, Sir: the clothes she weares
Are but her quarters sinnes, she has no linnen
But what she first offends for.

War.
O blest Heaven
Look downe upon me.

Plotw.
Nay, Sir, which is more,
She has three children living, has had foure.

War.
How? Children? Children say you?

Plot.
Ask him Sir,
One by a French Man.

Ros.
Another by a Dutch.

Plotw.
A third, Sir, by a Moore, borne of two colours.
Just like a Sergeants Man.

War.
Why she has known then
All Tongues and Nations.

Ros.
She has been layne with farther
Then ever Coryat travaild, and layne in
By two parts of the Map, Afrique, and Europe.
As if the State maintaind her to allay
The heat of Forrainers.

VVar.
O—O—O—O.

Plotw.
What aile you, Sir?

War.
O Nephew I am not well,
J am not well.

Plot.
I hope you are not married.

War.
It is too true.

Ros.
God help you then.

War.
Amen;
Nephew forgive me.

Ros.
Alas good Gentleman.

Plot.
Would you trust Baneswright, Sir?

War.
Nephew in Hell
There's not a torment for him; O that I could
But see that cheating Rogue upon the rack now:
I'de give a thousand pound for every stretch,
That should enlarge the Rogue through all his joints,
And but just show him hell, and then recall
His broking soule, and give him strength to suffer
His torture often; J would have the Rascall
Think hanging a reliefe, and be as long
A dying as a chopt Eele, that the Divell
Might have his soule by peeces, who's here? a Saylor?

Enter Cypher like a Saylor.