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A YORK-SHIRE TRAGEDY Page: 2
OLIVER.
Why, Sam, why?
SAM.
Why, he's married to another Long ago.
AMBO.
Yfaith, ye jest.
SAM.
Why, did you not know that till now? why, he's married, beats
his wife, and has two or three children by her: for you must
note that any woman bears the more when she is beaten.
RALPH.
Aye, that's true, for she bears the blows.
OLIVER.
Sirrah Sam, I would not for two years wages, my young mistress
knew so much; she'd run upon the left hand of her wit, and
ne'er be her own woman again.
SAM.
And I think she was blest in her Cradle, that he never came
in her bed; why, he has consumed all, pawnd his lands, and
made his university brother stand in wax for him--There's a
fine phrase for a scrivener! puh, he owes more then his skin's
worth.
OLIVER.
Is't possible?
SAM.
Nay, I'll tell you moreover, he calls his wife whore as
familiarly as one would call Mal and Dol, and his children
bastards as naturally as can be.--But what have we here? I
thought twas somewhat puld down my breeches: I quite forgot
my two potingsticks. These came from London; now any thing
is good here that comes from London.
OLIVER.
Aye, far fetcht you know.
SAM.
But speak in your conscience, yfaith, have not we as good
Potingsticks ith Country as need to be put ith fire. The mind
of a thing's all, and as thou saidst e'en now, far fetcht is
the best things for Ladies.
OLIVER.
Aye, and for waiting gentle women too.
SAM.
But, Ralph, what, is our beer sower this thunder?
OLIVER.
No, no, it holds countenance yet.
SAM.
Why, then, follow me; I'll teach you the finest humor to be
drunk in't; they call it knighting in London, when they drink
upon their knees.
AMBO.
Faith, that's excellent. Come, follow me: I'll give you all
the degrees ont in order.
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. Another apartment in the same.
WIFE.
What will become of us? all will away.
My husband never ceases in expense,
Both to consume his credit and his house;
And tis set down by heaven's just decree,
That Riot's child must needs be beggery.
Are these the vertues that his you did promise?
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