their cases.

TRUE: Very dreadful that! And may he lose the invention, sir, of
carving lanterns in paper.

MOR: Let there be no bawd carted that year, to employ a bason of
his: but let him be glad to eat his sponge for bread.

TRUE: And drink lotium to it, and much good do him.

MOR: Or, for want of bread--

TRUE: Eat ear-wax, sir. I'll help you. Or, draw his own teeth,
and add them to the lute-string.

MOR: No, beat the old ones to powder, and make bread of them.

TRUE: Yes, make meal of the mill-stones.

MOR: May all the botches and burns that he has cured on others
break out upon him.

TRUE: And he now forget the cure of them in himself, sir: or, if
he do remember it, let him have scraped all his linen into lint
for't, and have not a rag left him to set up with.

MOR: Let him never set up again, but have the gout in his hands
for ever! Now, no more, sir.

TRUE: O, that last was too high set; you might go less with him,
i'faith, and be revenged enough: as, that he be never able to
new-paint his pole--

MOR: Good sir, no more, I forgot myself.

TRUE: Or, want credit to take up with a comb-maker--

MOR: No more, sir.

TRUE: Or, having broken his glass in a former despair, fall now
into a much greater, of ever getting another--

MOR: I beseech you, no more.

TRUE: Or, that he never be trusted with trimming of any but
chimney-sweepers--

MOR: Sir--

TRUE: Or, may he cut a collier's throat with his razor, by
chance-medley, and yet be hanged for't.

MOR: I will forgive him, rather than hear any more. I beseech you,
sir.

[ENTER DAW, INTRODUCING LADY HAUGHTY, CENTAURE, MAVIS,
AND TRUSTY.]

DAW: This way, madam.

MOR: O, the sea breaks in upon me! another flood! an inundation!
I shall be overwhelmed with noise. It beats already at my shores.
I feel an earthquake in my self for't.

DAW: 'Give you joy, mistress.

MOR: Has she servants too!

DAW: I have brought some ladies here to see and know you.
My lady Haughty--
[AS HE PRESENTS THEM SEVERALLY, EPI. KISSES THEM.]
this my lady Centaure--mistress Dol Mavis--mistress Trusty,
my lady Haughty's woman. Where's your husband? let's see him:
can he endure no noise? let me come to him.

MOR: What nomenclator is this!

TRUE: Sir John Daw, sir, your wife's servant, this.

MOR: A Daw, and her servan