‘them, to keep them clean, to be ſubject to all their filth and ſcreaming,’
‘Truly, Sir, you are but little acquainted with a mother’s feelings; a ſingle friendly look, the ſweet ſmiles and liſping of the little innocents repay all labour and trouble—Look now at this little angel here, how he clings to me, the coaxer! Now he is no longer the ſame boy that cried and ſcreamed ſo—Ah, that I had an hundred hands to toſs and carry you, and to labour for you, ye pretty darlings!’
‘So then! has thy huſband no hands to work?’
‘Hands! yes he has hands indeed! ſtirring hands too, as I feel ſometimes.’
‘How! can thy huſband find in his heart to lift an arm againſt thee? againſt ſuch a wife?—But I’ll break his bones, the tyrant! the aſſaſſin!’
‘Then, in ſooth, you’ll have plenty of bones to break, if every huſband that
‘lays
