I know you will recant and sue to me, but save that
labour: I'le rather love a fever and continual thirst, rather contract my
youth to drink and sacerdote upon quarrels, or take a drawn whore from an
Hospital, that time, diseases, and _Mercury_ had eaten, than to be drawn
to love you.
_Lady_. Ha, ha, ha, pray do, but take heed though.
_Elder Lo_. From thee, false dice, jades, Cowards, and plaguy Summers,
good Lord deliver me. [_Exit_ Elder Love.
_Lady_. But hark you Servant, hark ye: is he gon? call him again.
_Abigal_. Hang him Paddock.
_Lady_. Art thou here still? flie, flie, and call my Servant, flie or ne'r
see me more.
_Abigal_. I had rather knit again than see that rascall, but I must doe
it. [_Exit_ Abigal.
_Lady_. I would be loth to anger him too much; what fine foolery is this
in a woman, to use those men most forwardly they love most? If I should
lose him thus, I were rightly served. I hope he's not so much himself, to
take it to th'heart: how now? will he come back?
_Enter_ Abigal.
_Abig_. Never, he swears, whilst he can hear men say there's any woman
living: he swore he would ha' me first.
_Lady_. Didst thou intreat him wench?
_Abigal_. As well as I could Madam.
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