re women
have no soul nor property, there I must sit
contented. But in England, a country whose women
are its glory, must women be abused? where women
rule, must women be enslaved? Nay, cheated into
slavery, mocked by a promise of comfortable society
into a wilderness of solitude! I dare not keep the
thought about me. Oh, here comes something to
divert me.

_Enter a Countrywoman_.

_Worn_. I come, an't please your ladyship--you're my
Lady Bountiful, an't ye? {11}

_Mrs. Sul_. Well, good woman, go on.

_Worn_. I have come seventeen long mail to have a cure
for my husband's sore leg.

_Mrs. Sul_. Your husband! what, woman, cure your
husband!

_Worn_. Ay, poor man, for his sore leg won't let him stir
from home.

_Mrs. Sul_. There, I confess, you have given me a reason.
Well, good woman, I 'll tell you what you must do.
You must lay your husband's leg upon a table, and
with a chopping-knife you must lay it open as broad
as you can, then you must takeout the bone, and
beat the flesh soundly with a rolling-pin, then take
salt, pepper, cloves, mace, and ginger, some sweet-herbs,
and season it very well, then roll it up like
brawn, and put it into the oven for two hours.

_Worn_. Heavens reward your ladyship!--I have two
little babies too that are piteous bad with the graips,
an't please ye. {30}

_Mrs. Sul_. Put a little pepper and salt in their bellies,
good woman.

_Enter Lady Bountiful_.

I beg your ladyship's pardon for taking your business
out of your hands; I have been a-tampering
here a little with one of your patients.
_Lady Boun_. Come, good woman, don't mind this mad
creature; I am the person that you want, I suppose.
What would you have, woman?

_Mrs. Sul_. She wants something for her husband's sore
leg. {40}

_Lady Boun_. What's the matter with his leg, goody?

_Worn_. It come first, as one might say, with a sort of
dizziness in his foot, then he had a kind of laziness
in his joints, and then his leg broke out, and then it
swelled, and then it closed again, and then it broke
out again, and then it festered, and then it grew
better, and then it grew worse again.

_Mrs. Sul_. Ha! ha! ha!

_Lady Boun_. How can you be merry with the misfortunes
of other people? {50}

Mrs. Sul, Because my own make me sad, madam.

_Lady Boun_. The worst reason in the world, daughter;
your own misfortunes should teach you