Mop.

I was promis'd them against the feast, but they come not too late now.

Dor.

He hath promis'd you more than that, or there be liars.

Mop.

He hath paid you all he promis'd you: 'may be he has paid you more, which will shame you to give him again.

Clo.

Is there no manners left among maids? will they wear their plackets where they should bear their faces? is there not milking-time, when you are going to bed, or kill-hole, to whistle of these secrets, but you must be tittle-tatling before all our guests? 'tis well they are whispring: clamour your tongues, and not a word more.

Mop.

I have done: come, you promis'd me a tawdry lace, and a pair of sweet gloves.

Clo.

Have I not told thee how I was cozen'd by the way, and lost all my mony?

Aut.

And indeed, Sir, there are cozeners abroad, therefore it behoves men to be wary.

Clo.

Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.

Aut.

I hope so, Sir, for I have about me many parcels of charge.

Clo.

What hast here? ballads?

Mop.

Pray now buy some, I love a ballad in print, or a life, for then we are sure they are true.

Aut.

Here's one to a very doleful tune, how a usurer's wife was brought to bed with twenty mony bags at a burthen, and how she long'd to eat adders heads, and toads carbonado'd.

Mop.

Is it true, think you?

Aut.

Very true, and but a month old.

Dor.

Bless me from marrying a usurer.

Aut.

Here's the midwife's name to't; one mistress Tale-porter, and five or six honest wives that were present. Why should I carry lies abroad?

Mop.

Pray you now buy it.

Clo.

Come on, lay it by; and let's first see more ballads; we'll buy the other things anon.

Aut.

Here's another ballad of a fish that appear'd upon the coast, on Wednesday the fourscore of April, forty thousand fadom above water, and sung this ballad against the hard hearts of maids; it was thought she was a woman, and was turn'd into a cold fish, for she would not exchange flesh with one that lov'd her: the ballad is very pitiful, and as true.

Dor.

Is it true too, think you?

Aut.

Five justices hands at it; and witnesses more than my pack will hold.

Clo.

Lay it by too: another.

Aut.

This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one.

Mop.

Let's have some merry ones.

Aut.

Why this is a passing merry one, and goes to the tune of two maids wooing a man; there's scarce a maid westward but she sings it: 'tis in request, I can tell you.

Mop.

We can both sing it; if thou'lt bear a part, thou shalt hear, 'tis in three parts.

Dor.

We had the tune on't a month a-go.

Aut.

I can bear my part, you must know 'tis my occupation: have at it with you.