_Abigal_. O Sir, you have pierc'd me thorow. Here I vow a recantation to
those malicious faults I ever did against you. Never more will I despise
your learning, never more pin cards and cony tails upon your Cassock,
never again reproach your reverend nightcap, and call it by the mangie
name of murrin, never your reverend person more, and say, you look like
one of _Baals_ Priests in a hanging, never again when you say grace laugh
at you, nor put you out at prayers: never cramp you more, nor when you
ride, get Sope and Thistles for you. No my _Roger_, these faults shall be
corrected and amended, as by the tenour of my tears appears.
_Rog_. Now cannot I hold if I should be hang'd, I must crie too. Come to
thine own beloved, and do even what thou wilt with me sweet, sweet
_Abigal_. I am thine own for ever: here's my hand, when _Roger_ proves a
recreant, hang him i'th' Bel-ropes.
_Enter_ Lady, _and_ Martha.
_Lady_. Why how now Master _Roger_, no prayers down with you to night? Did
you hear the bell ring? You are courting: your flock shall fat well for
it.
_Rog_. I humbly ask your pardon: I'le clap up Prayers, but stay a little,
and be with you again. [_Exit_ Roger.
_Enter_ Elder Love.
_Lady_. How dare you, being so unworthie a fellow,
Presume to come to move me any more?
_Elder Lo_.
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