Chair, Needle, keep.
Cha. Stay, Mr. Needle, you do prick too fast
Upo' the Business: I must take some breath:
Lend me my stool; you ha' drawn a Stitch upon me,
In faith, Son Needle, with your haste.
Nee. Good Mother, piece up this Breach: I'll gi' you
a new Gown,
A new Silk Grogoran Gown. I'll do't, Mother.
Kee. What'll you do? You ha' done too much already,
With your Prick-seam, and through-stitch, Mr. Needle.
I pray you sit not fabling here old Tales,
Good Mother Chair, the Midwife, but come up.