Polish, Keep, Compa**.
Pol. out thou Caitiff Witch!
Bawd, Begger, Gipsey; any thing indeed,
But honest Woman.
Kee. What you please, Dame Polish,
My Ladies Stroker.
Com. What is here to do?
The Gossips out!
Pol. Thou art a Traytor to me,
An Eve, the Apul, A Viper, that hast eat a Pa**age through me,
Through mine own Bowels, by thy wretchlesness,
Com. What frantick Fit is this? I'll step aside,
And hearken to it.
Pol. Did I thrust thee, Wretch,
With such a Secret, of that consequence,
Did so concern me, and my Child, our Livelihood,
And Reputation? And hast thou undone us,
By thy Connivence, nodding in a Corner,
And suffering her be got with Child so basely?
Sleepy unlucky Hag! Thou Bird of Night,
And all Mischance to me.
Kee. Good Lady Empress!
Had I keeping of your Daughters Clicket
In charge? was that commited to my trust?
Com. Her Daughter!
Pol. Softly, Devil, not so loud:
You'ld ha' the House hear, and be witness, would you?
Kee. Let all the World be witness, Afore I'll
Endure the Tyranny of such a Tongue --
And such a Pride --
Pol. What will you do?
Kee. Tell truth,
And shame the She-man-devil in puff'd Sleeves;
Run any hazard, by revealing all
Unto my Lady: how you chang'd the Cradles,
And chang'd the Children in 'em.
Pol. Not so high!
Kee. Calling your Daughter Pleasance there Placentia,
And my true Mistris by the name of Pleasance.
Com. A horrid Secret this! worth the discovery.
Pol. And must you be thus loud?
Kee. I will be louder,
And cry it through the House, through every Room,
And every Office of the Lawndry-maids,
Till it be born hot to my Ladies Ears.
Ere I will live in such a slavery,
I'll do away my self.
Pol. Didst thou not swear
To keep it secret? and upon what Book?
(I do remember now) the Practice of Piety.
Kee. It was a Practice of Impiety,
Out of your wicked Forge, I know it now,
My Conscience tells me. First, against the Infants,
To rob them o' their Names, and their true Parents;
T' abuse the Neighbourhood, keep them in errour;
But most my Lady: She has the main wrong:
And I will let her know it instantly.
Repentance (if it be true) nere comes too late.
Pol. What have I done? Conjur'd a Spirit up,
I sha' not lay again? Drawn on a Danger,
And Ruine on my self thus, by provoking
A peevish Fool, whom nothing will pray off,
Or satisfie, I fear? Her Patience stirr'd,
Is turn'd to Fury. I have run my Bark
On a sweet Rock, by mine own Arts and Trust;
And must get off again, or dash in pieces.
Com. This was a Business worth the listning after.