Wife. Euery one that do's so, is a Traitor,
And must be hang'd
Son. And must they all be hang'd, that swear and lye?
Wife. Euery one
Son. Who must hang them?
Wife. Why, the honest men
Son. Then the Liars and Swearers are Fools: for there
are Lyars and Swearers enow, to beate the honest men,
and hang vp them
Wife. Now God helpe thee, poore Monkie:
But how wilt thou do for a Father?
Son. If he were dead, youl'd weepe for him: if you
would not, it were a good signe, that I should quickely
haue a new Father
Wife. Poore pratler, how thou talk'st?
Enter a Messenger.
Mes. Blesse you faire Dame: I am not to you known,
Though in your state of Honor I am perfect;
I doubt some danger do's approach you neerely.
If you will take a homely mans aduice,
Be not found heere: Hence with your little ones
To fright you thus. Me thinkes I am too sauage:
To do worse to you, were fell Cruelty,
Which is too nie your person. Heauen preserue you,
I dare abide no longer.