TRUE: Nay, mistress Otter, hear him a little first.

OTT: She has a breath worse than my grandmother's, profecto.

MRS. OTT: O treacherous liar! kiss me, sweet master Truewit, and
prove him a slandering knave.

TRUE: I will rather believe you, lady.

OTT: And she has a peruke that's like a pound of hemp, made up in
shoe-threads.

MRS. OTT: O viper, mandrake!

OTT: A most vile face! and yet she spends me forty pound a year
in mercury and hogs-bones. All her teeth were made in the
Black-Friars, both her eyebrows in the Strand, and her hair in
Silver-street. Every part of the town owns a piece of her.

MRS. OTT [COMES FORWARD.]: I cannot hold.

OTT: She takes herself asunder still when she goes to bed, into
some twenty boxes; and about next day noon is put together again,
like a great German clock: and so comes forth, and rings a tedious
larum to the whole house, and then is quiet again for an hour,
but for her quarters. Have you done me right, gentlemen?

MRS. OTT [FALLS UPON HIM, AND BEATS HIM.]: No, sir, I will do you
right with my quarters, with my quarters.