_1_.
Our shops are well look't to now.
_2_.
'Slife, yonder's my Master, I think.
_1_.
No 'tis not he.
_Enter a man with two Citizens-wives._
_1 Cit_.
Lord how fine the fields be, what sweet living 'tis in the
Country!
_2 Cit_.
I poor souls, God help 'em; they live as contentedly as one of
us.
_1 Cit_.
My husbands Cousin would have had me gone into the Country last
year, wert thou ever there?
_2 Cit_.
I, poor souls, I was amongst 'em once.
_1 Cit_.
And what kind of creatures are they, for love of God?
_2 Cit_.
Very good people, God help 'em.
_1 Cit_.
Wilt thou go down with me this Summer when I am brought to bed?
_2 Cit_.
Alas, it is no place for us.
_1 Cit_.
Why, pray thee?
_2 Cit_.
Why you can have nothing there, there's no body cryes brooms.
_1 Cit_.
No?
_2 Cit_.
No truly, nor milk.
_1 Cit_.
Nor milk, how do they?
_2 Cit_.
They are fain to milk themselves i'th' Country.
_1 Cit_.
Good Lord! but the people there, I think, will be very dutiful to
one of us.
_2 Cit_.
I God knows will they, and yet they do not greatly care for our
husbands.
_1 Cit_.
Do they not? Alas! I'good faith I cannot blame them: for we do
not greatly care for them our selves. _Philip_, I pray choose us
a place.
_ Phil_.
There's the best forsooth.
_1 Cit_.
By your leave good people a little.
_3_.
What's the matter?
_ Phil_.
I pray you my friend, do not thrust my Mistress so, she's with
Child.
_2_.
Let her look to her self then, has she not had showing enough
yet? if she stay shouldring here, she may haps go home with a
cake in her belly.
_3_.
How now, goodman squitter-breech, why do you lean on me?
_ Phi_.
Because I will.
_3_.
Will you Sir sawce-box?
_1 Cit_.
Look if one ha'not struck _Philip_, come hither _Philip_, why did
he strike thee?
_ Phil_.
For leaning on him.
_1 Cit_.
Why didst thou lean on him?
_ Phil_.