Act III - Act III, Scene VIII


MRS FORE. They have quarrelled, just as we could wish.

BEN. Tar-barrel? Let your sweetheart there call me so, if he'll take your part, your Tom Essence, and I'll say something to him; gad, I'll lace his musk-doublet for him, I'll make him stink: he shall smell more like a weasel than a civet-cat, afore I ha' done with 'en.

MRS FORE. Bless me, what's the matter, Miss? What, does she cry? Mr Benjamin, what have you done to her?

BEN. Let her cry: the more she cries the less she'll--she has been gathering foul weather in her mouth, and now it rains out at her eyes.

MRS FORE. Come, Miss, come along with me, and tell me, poor child.

MRS FRAIL. Lord, what shall we do? There's my brother Foresight and Sir Sampson coming. Sister, do you take Miss down into the parlour, and I'll carry Mr Benjamin into my chamber, for they must not know that they are fallen out. Come, sir, will you venture yourself with me? [Looking kindly on him.]

BEN. Venture, mess, and that I will, though 'twere to sea in a storm.