_Ama_.
Is this my welcome?
I cannot go to Church, but thus I am scandal'd, Use no devotion for my soul, but Gentlemen--
_Bar_.
To Church?
_Amar_.
Yes, and ye keep sweet youths to wait upon me, Sweet bred-up youths, to be a credit to me.
There's your delight again, pray take him to ye, He never comes near me more to debase me.
_Bar_.
How's this? how's this? good wife, how, has he wrong'd ye?
_Ama_.
I was fain to drive him like a sheep before me, I blush to think how people fleer'd, and scorn'd me.
Others have handsome men, that know behaviour, Place, and observance: this silly thing knows nothing, Cannot tell ten; let every Rascal justle me, And still I push'd him on as he had been coming.
_Bar_. Ha! did ye push him on? is he so stupid?
_Ama_.
When others were attentive to the Priest, Good devout Gentleman, then fell he fast, Fast, sound asleep: then first began the Bag-pipes, The several stops on's nose made a rare musick, A rare and loud, and those plaid many an Anthem.
Put out of that, he fell straight into dreaming.
_Ars_.
As cunning, as she is sweet; I like this carriage.
_Bar_.
What did he then?
_Ama_.
Why then he talked in his Sleep too, Nay, I'le divulge your moral vertues (sheeps-face) And talk'd aloud, that every ear was fixt to him: Did not I suffer (do you think) in this time?
Talk of your bawling Law, of appellations Of Declarations, and Excommunications: Warrants, and Executions: and such Devils That drove all the Gentlemen out o'th' Church, by hurryes, With execrable oaths, they would never come there again.
Thus am I served and man'd.
_Lean_.
I pray ye forgive me, I must confess I am not fit to wait upon ye: Alas, I was brought up--
_Ama_.
To be an Asse, A Lawyers Asse, to carry Books, and Buckrams.
_Bar_.
But what did you at Church?
_Lop_.
At Church, did you ask her?
Do you hear Gentlemen, do you mark that question?
Because you are half an Heretick your self, Sir, Would ye breed her too? this shall to the Inquisition, A pious Gentlewoman reproved for praying?
I'le see this filed, and you shall hear further, Sir.
_Ars_.
Ye have an ill heart.
_Lop_.
It shall be found out, Gentlemen, There be those youths will search it.
_Die_.
You are warm Signiour, But a Faggot will warm ye better: we are witnesses.
_Lop_.
Enough to hang him, do not doubt.
_Mil_.
Nay certain, I do believe h'as rather no Religion.
_Lop_.
That must be known too, because she goes to Church, Sir?
_O monstrum infirme ingens!_
_Die_.
Let him go on, Sir, His wealth will build a Nunnery, a fair one, And this good Lady, when he is hang'd and rotten, May there be Abbess.
_Bar_.
You are cozen'd, honest Gentlemen, I do not forbid the use but the form, mark me.
_Lop_.
Form? what do you make of form?
_Bar_.