_Mrs Term._ O father, I think I shall go mad.

_Aldo._ You are of the violentest temper, daughter Termagant! When had
you a business last?

_Mrs Term._ The last I had was with young Caster, that son-of-a-whore
gamester: he brought me to taverns, to draw in young cullies, while he
bubbled them at play; and, when he had picked up a considerable sum,
and should divide, the cheating dog would sink my share, and
swear,--Damn him, he won nothing.

_Aldo._ Unconscionable villain, to cozen you in your own calling!

_Mrs Term._ When he loses upon the square, he comes home zoundsing and
blooding; first beats me unmercifully, and then squeezes me to the
last penny. He has used me so, that, Gad forgive me, I could almost
forswear my trade. The rogue starves me too: He made me keep Lent last
year till Whitsuntide, and out-faced me with oaths it was but Easter.
And what mads me most, I carry a bastard of the rogue's in my belly;
and now he turns me off, and will not own it.

_Mrs Over._ Lord, how it quops! you are half a year gone, madam.--
[_Laying her hand on her belly._

_Mrs Term._ I feel the young rascal kicking already, like his
father.--Oh, there is an elbow thrusting out: I think, in my
conscience, he is palming and topping in my belly; and practising for
a livelihood, before he comes into the world.

_Aldo._ Geoffery, set her down in the register, that I may provide her