Page:The Tragedy of the Duchesse of Malfy (1623).pdf/70

 At last, when as our quire wants breath, our bodies being blest, We'll sing like Swans, to welcome death, and die in love and rest.

1.Mad-man. Doomes-day not come yet! I'll draw it neerer by a perspective, or make a glasse, that shall set all the world on fire upon an instant: I cannot sleepe, my pillow is stuff't with a littour of Porcupines.

2.Mad. Hell is a meere glasse-house, where the divells are continually blowing up womens soules, on hollow yrons, and the fire never goes out.

3.Mad. I will lie with every woman in my parish the tenth night: I will tithe them over, like hay-cockes.

4.Mad. Shall my Pothecary out-go me, because I am a Cuck-old? I have found out his roguery: he makes allom Of his wives urin, and sells it to Puritaines, that have sore Throates with over-strayning.

1.Mad. I have skill in Harroldry.

2. Hast?

1. You do give for your creast a wood-cockes head, with the Braines pickt out on't; you are a very ancient Gentleman.

3. Greeke is turn'd Turke, we are onely to be sav'd by the Helvetian translation.

1. Come on Sir, I will lay the law to you.

2. Oh, rather lay a corazive, the law will eate to the bone.

3. He that drinkes but to satisfie nature is damn'd.

4. If I had my glasse here, I would shew a sight should make All the women here, call me mad Doctor.

1. What's he, a rope-maker?

2. No, no, no, a snufling knave, that while he shewes the Tombes, will have his hand in a wenches placket.

3. Woe, to the Caroach, that brought home my wife from The Masque, at three a clocke in the morning, it had a large Feather-bed in it.

4. I have paired the divells nayles forty times, roasted them In Ravens egges, and cur'd agues with them.