_Aldo._ Then there is a father for your child, my lord's son and heir
by Mr Caster. But henceforward, to preserve peace betwixt you, I
ordain, that you shall ply no more in my daughter Hackney's quarters:
You shall have the city, from White-Chapel to Temple-Bar, and she
shall have to Covent-Garden downwards: At the play-houses, she shall
ply the boxes, because she has the better face; and you shall have the
pit, because you can prattle best out of a vizor mask.

_Mrs Pad._ Then all friends, and confederates. Now let us have father
Aldo's delight, and so adjourn the house.

_Aldo._ Well said, daughter.--Lift up your voices, and sing like
nightingales, you tory rory jades. Courage, I say; as long as the
merry pence hold out, you shall none of you die in Shoreditch.

_Enter_ WOODALL.

A hey, boys, a hey! here he comes, that will swinge you all! down, you
little jades, and worship him; it is the genius of whoring.

_Wood._ And down went chairs and table, and out went every candle. Ho,
brave old patriarch in the middle of the church militant! whores of
all sorts; forkers and ruin-tailed: Now come I gingling in with my
bells, and fly at the whole covey.

_Aldo._ A hey, a hey, boys! the town's thy own; burn, ravish, and
destroy!

_Wood._ We will have a night of it, like Alexander, when he burnt
Persepolis: _tuez, tuez, tuez! point de quartier._