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if there had been a whole army of Billingsgate shrews. However, recollecting what he has heard about scolds, he muttered to ⟨himself⟩ Uswagers, I think I have got a woeful ⟨one⟩ now. What is that you say sirrah, said ⟨she⟩. Nothing dear wife, but what you say I ⟨allow⟩ to be true. And so taking his bag ⟨and⟩ bottle, went on forward to his daily ⟨labour⟩. But coming towards the lower end of ⟨the⟩ town, he chanced to meet with old ⟨Jobson⟩ the cobler, a merry blade, who loved a ⟨cup⟩ of good ale. What honest Simon, said ⟨Jobson⟩, I am glad to see you, for since our ⟨last⟩ meeting I hear you are married, and now wish you much joy. Now old Jobson ⟨being⟩ a merry fellow, invited Simon to take a ⟨flaggon⟩ of the best liquor that the next ⟨alehouse⟩ could afford, and there to drink to ⟨Margery's⟩ health. being merry in discourse, talking ⟨of⟩ the tricks and pranks they had played when batchelors, Jobson taking up the flaggon in his hand, said, come here’s to thee honest ⟨Simon⟩, and I wish thee better luck than ⟨Randal⟩ thy old father-in-law had with his ⟨wife⟩ for she was such a scold, that happy was ⟨those⟩ who lived out of the clamour of her ⟨noise⟩. But without doubt thy wife may be of a ⟨milder⟩ spirit, and have more of her father's ⟨meekness⟩ than her mother’s fury in her; but ⟨come⟩ Simon here’s to thee, and thy dearly beloved
