beastly creature layes claime to me

Anti. What is she?
Dro. A very reuerent body: I such a one, as a man
may not speake of, without he say sir reuerence, I haue
but leane lucke in the match, and yet is she a wondrous
fat marriage

Anti. How dost thou meane a fat marriage?
Dro. Marry sir, she's the Kitchin wench, & al grease,
and I know not what vse to put her too, but to make a
Lampe of her, and run from her by her owne light. I
warrant, her ragges and the Tallow in them, will burne
a Poland Winter: If she liues till doomesday, she'l burne
a weeke longer then the whole World

Anti. What complexion is she of?
Dro. Swart like my shoo, but her face nothing like
so cleane kept: for why? she sweats a man may goe ouer-shooes
in the grime of it

Anti. That's a fault that water will mend

Dro. No sir, 'tis in graine, Noahs flood could not
do it

Anti. What's her name?
Dro. Nell Sir: but her name is three quarters, that's
an Ell and three quarters, will not measure her from hip
to hip