What, not a word? Nay then, thou lov’st it not, I am sure, sweet Kate, this kindness merits thanks. To dress thy meat myself and bring it thee. Here, love, thou seest how diligent I am, 40 How fares my Kate? What, sweeting, all amort? That feed’st me with the very name of meat. Go, get thee gone, thou false deluding slave, Then both, or one, or any thing thou wilt. Why then, the beef, and let the mustard rest. What say you to a piece of beef and mustard?Īy, but the mustard is too hot a little. How say you to a fat tripe finely broiled? 20 I care not what, so it be wholesome food. I prithee, go, and get me some repast, 15 ’Twere deadly sickness or else present death. 10Īnd that which spites me more than all these wants,Īs who should say, if I should sleep or eat With oaths kept waking and with brawling fed. If not, elsewhere they meet with charity.Īm starved for meat, giddy for lack of sleep, The more my wrong, the more his spite appears. No, no, forsooth, I dare not for my life.
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