Sirs, this fine woman had babes three,
Twain the dearest darlings that might be,
Ismael and fair Dalilah these two:
With the lout Barnabas I have nothing to do.
All was good, that these tiddlings do might:
Swear, lie, steal, scold, or fight:
Cards, dice, kiss, clip, and so forth:
All this our mammy would take in good worth.
Now, sir, Dalilah my daughter is dead of the pox,
And my son hang'th[244] in chains, and waveth his locks.
These news will I tell her, and the matter so frame,
That she shall be thine own, master Worldly Shame!
Ha, ha, ha!--
XANTIPPE. Peace, peace, she cometh hereby,
I spoke no word of her, no, not I.
WORLDLY SHAME. O Mistress Xantippe, I can tell you news:[245]
The fair wench, your dear daughter Dalilah,
Is dead of the pox taken at the stews;
And thy son Ismael, that pretty boy,
Whom I dare say you loved very well,
Is hanged in chains, every[246] man can tell.
Every man saith thy daughter was a strong whore,
And thy son a strong thief and a murderer.
It must needs grieve you wonderous,
That they died so shamefully both two:
Men will taunt you and mock you, for they say now
The cause of their death was even very you.
XANTIPPE. I the cause of their death?
[_She would sowne_.[247]
WORLDLY SHAME. Will ye sowne, the devil stop thy breath?
Thou shalt die (I trow) with more shame;
I will get me hence out of the way,
If the whore should die, men would me blame;
That I killed her, knaves should say.
Pages:
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121