Proud can I never be of what I hate; 148
But thankful even for hate, that is meant love.
Cap. How now! how now, chopt-logic! What is this?
'Proud,' and 'I thank you,' and 'I thank you not;'
And yet 'not proud;' mistress minion, you, 152
Thank me no thankings, nor proud me no prouds,
But fettle your fine joints 'gainst Thursday next,
To go with Paris to Saint Peter's church,
Or I will drag thee on a hurdle thither. 156
Out, you green-sickness carrion! out, you baggage!
You tallow face!
Lady Cap. Fie, fie! what, are you mad?
Jul. Good father, I beseech you on my knees,
Hear me with patience but to speak a word. 160
Cap. Hang thee, young baggage! disobedient wretch!
I tell thee what, get thee to church o' Thursday,
Or never after look me in the face.
Speak not, reply not, do not answer me; 164
My fingers itch.—Wife, we scarce thought us bless'd
That God had lent us but this only child;
But now I see this one is one too much,
And that we have a curse in having her. 168
Out on her, hilding!
Nurse. God in heaven bless her!
You are to blame, my lord, to rate her so.
Cap. And why, my lady wisdom? hold your tongue, 171
Good prudence; smatter with your gossips, go.
Nurse. I speak no treason.
150 chopt-logic: contentious, sophistical argument
152 minion: saucy person
154 fettle: prepare
156 hurdle: a rude sledge for conveying criminals
157 green-sickness: kind of anemia
170 rate: scold
172 smatter: chatter
