PHIL. Over the meads, half-way to Milton, mother, To bear my friend, Frank Goursey, company.
MRS BAR. Where's your blue coat[255], your sword and buckler, sir? Get you such like habit for a serving-man, If you will wait upon the brat of Goursey.
PHIL. Mother, that you are mov'd, this makes me wonder; When I departed, I did leave ye friends: What undigested jar hath since betided?
MRS BAR. Such as almost doth choke thy mother, boy, And stifles her with the conceit of it; I am abus'd, my son, by Goursey's wife.
MRS BAR. Mistress Flirt--yea[256], foul strumpet, Light-a-love, short-heels! Mistress Goursey Call her again, and thou wert better no.
PHIL. O my dear mother, have some patience!
MRS BAR. Ay, sir, have patience, and see your father To rifle up the treasure of my love, And play the spendthrift upon such an harlot! This same will make me have patience, will it not?
PHIL. This same is women's most impatience: Yet, mother, I have often heard ye say, That you have found my father temperate, And ever free from such affections.
MRS BAR. Ay, till[257] my too much love did glut his thoughts, And make him seek for change.
PHIL. O, change your mind! My father bears more cordial love to you.
MRS BAR. Thou liest, thou liest, for he loves Goursey's wife, Not me.
PHIL. Now I swear, mother, you are much to blame; I durst be sworn he loves you as his soul.
MRS BAR. Wilt thou be pampered by affection? Will nature teach thee such vild[258] perjury? Wilt thou be sworn, ay, forsworn,[259] careless boy? And if thou swear't, I say he loves me not.
PHIL. [Mother] he loves[260] ye but too well, I swear, Unless ye knew much better how to use him.
MRS BAR. Doth he so, sir? thou unnatural boy! "Too well," sayest thou? that word shall cost thee[261] somewhat: O monstrous! have I brought thee up to this? "Too well!" O unkind, wicked, and degenerate, Hast thou the heart to say so of thy mother? Well, God will plague thee for't, I warrant thee: Out on thee, villain! fie upon thee, wretch! Out of my sight, out of my sight, I say!
PHIL. This air is pleasant, and doth please me well, And here I will stay.
MRS BAR. Thou sett'st thy son to scoff and mock at me: Is't not sufficient I am wrong'd of thee, But he must be an agent to abuse me? Must I be subject to my cradle too? O God, O God, amend it! [_Exit_.