The foul fiend haunts poor Tom in the voice of a nightingale. Hopdance cries in Tom's belly for two white herring. I'll see their trial first. Bring in the evidence. I here take my oath before this honourable assembly, she kicked the poor king her father.
Fool Come hither, mistress.
She cannot deny it. Fool Cry you mercy, I took you for a joint-stool. And here's another, whose warp'd looks proclaim What store her heart is made on. My tears begin to take his part so much, They'll mar my counterfeiting. The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanch, and Sweet-heart, see, they bark at me.