MRS FOS. O my heart; gossip, do you see this? Was ever Woman thus abus'd?
MRS FOS. Ay, I am well recompens'd to complain to you? Had you such a kindred----
MRS FOS. Do so; choose here then. O my heart! but I'll do your errand! O that my nails were not pared! but I'll do your errand! Will you go, gossip?
WID. No, I'll stay awhile, and tell 'em out with patience.
MRS FOS. I cannot hold a joint still! Dost wisp me, thou tatterdemalion? I'll do your errands! if I have a husband. O that I could spit wild-fire! My heart! O my heart! if it does not go pantle, pantle, pantle in my belly, I am no honest woman: but I'll do your errands!
ROB. Kind gentlewoman, you have some patience.
ROB. You may do a good office, and make yourself a peaceful moderator betwixt me and my angry father, whom his wife hath moved to spleen against me.
WID. Sir, I do not disallow the kindness Your consanguinity renders; I would not teach You otherwise: I'd speak with your uncle, sir, If you'll give me leave.
CLOWN. [_To_ ROBERT.] You may talk with me, sir, in the meantime. [_Exit_ ROBERT _and_ CLOWN.
STEPH. With me would you talk, gentlewoman?
WID. Yes, sir, with you: you are a brave unthrift.
STEPH. Not very brave neither, yet I make a shift.
STEPH. I'll be no pupil to a woman. Leave your discipline.
WID. Nay, pray you, hear me, sir, I cannot chide; I'll but give you good counsel: 'tis not a good Course that you run.
WID. I would teach you a better, if you'd stay where you are.
STEPH. I would stay where I am, if I had any money.
STEPH. I think so too; I have played at passage all this while, now I'd go to hazard.
WID. Dost thou want money? Thou art worthy to be tattered! Hast thou no wit, now thy money's gone?
STEPH. 'Tis all the portion I have. I have nothing to maintain me but my wit; my money is too little, I'm sure.
WID. I cannot believe thy wit's more than thy money--a fellow so well-limbed, so able to do good service, and want?
STEPH. Why, mistress, my shoulders were not made for a frock and a basket, nor a coal-sack; no, nor my hands to turn a trencher at a table's side.
WID. I like that resolution well; but how comes it then that thy wit leaves thy body unfurnished? Thou art very poor?
WID. They are the only wizards, I confess, The only fortune-tellers; but he that goes To seek his fortune from them must never hope To have a good destiny allotted him. Yet it is not the course that I dislike in thee, But that thou canst not supply that course, And outcross them that cross thee; were I as thou art--