(7) H. Pe'thec Joan, dont take ſo much pains to con vince me that you are an arrant whore. W. You lie ſheep's head! I am as honeſt a wo- man as any in the Pariſh, tho I ſay it that ſhould not ſay it, perhapſ you think all women like your- ſelf. H. Why, your fine diſcourſe is enough to make one believe my horas are as long as Stags. W. Why then ſtay at home you jealous Booby and mind your own buſineſs, and ſave me the labour of getting one to do your drudgery. H. Somebody was t'other night-What was Snip the Taylor doing when I peep'd in at the Keyhole! W. Fool, 'tis many an honeſt Man's Fate to ſtand Pimp to his own wife. H. As faſhionable as it is, I'll never bear with it. for if ever I catch this ſcurvey dog. I'll lop off his cars - With his own Shears. W. No more that raſcal; for as often as you ramble in feather-bed-lane, the Taylor and I will -You may gueſs what I mean. H. Good Wife, I hope you are not in earneſt, you know I never go to feather-bed-lane, but - when buſineſs calls me there. W But, firrah, I dont like your Buſineſs there, I well remember, and a body would think you ne- ver wou'd forget, when you heel-piec'd Miſs Pru's ſhoes, and be rewarded you with the Crankcums, when I pawn'd every thread to get you ſalivated. -The noiſe of dear Doctor, no more of your blue ſtone, founds fill in my ears.
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