_Hostis_. I shall goe to court now, and attired like an old Darie woman,
a Ruffe holland of eight groates, three inches deep of the olde cut, and
a hat as far out of fashion as a close placket.
_Cittie wife_. Why I hope your husband is able to maintain you better,
are there not nights as well as daies? does he not sleepe sometimes? has
he no pockets about him, cannot you search his breeches? anything you
find in his breeches is your owne.
_Hostis_. But may a woman doe that with safety?
_Cittie wife_. I, and more, why should she not? why what is his is
yours, what's yours your owne.
_Hostis_. The best hope I have is; you knowe my Guest Mistris _Gettica_,
she has pawnd her Jewels to me already, and this night I look for her
Hood and her tyer, or if the worst chance, I know I can intreate her to
weare my cloathes, and let me goe in her attire to Court.
_Cittie wife_. Or if all faile, you may hire a good suit at a Jewes, or
at a broakers; tis a common thing and speacially among the common sort.
_Enter Host and Constable_.
_Host_.
Pages:
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422