proves a rich man ere he dies. But what's the news from London, Sam?
RALPH. Aye, that's well said; what's the news from London, Sirrah? My young mistress keeps such a puling for her love.
SAM. Why, the more fool she; aye, the more ninny hammer she.
OLIVER. Why, Sam, why?
SAM. Why, he's married to another Long ago.
AMBO. Yfaith, ye jest.
SAM. Why, did you not know that till now? why, he's married, beats his wife, and has two or three children by her: for you must note that any woman bears the more when she is beaten.
RALPH. Aye, that's true, for she bears the blows.
OLIVER. Sirrah Sam, I would not for two years wages, my young mistress knew so much; she'd run upon the left hand of her wit, and ne'er be her own woman again.
SAM. And I think she was blest in her Cradle, that he never came in her bed; why, he has consumed all, pawnd his lands, and made his university brother stand in wax for him--There's a fine phrase for a scrivener! puh, he owes more then his skin's worth.