atural.

_Isa_. Ay, so is he that got it.

_Non_. Thou art not in earnest?

_Isa_. I would I were not:--Hark! I hear him groan hither. Come
in, poor Toby.

_Enter_ TOBY, _the coachman, with an urinal_.

_Non_. How now! what have you there, sirrah?

_Tob_. An't please your worship, 'tis my water. I had a spice
o'the new disease here i'the house; and so carried it to master
doctor.

_Non_. Well; and what did he say to you?

_Tob_. He told me very sad news, an' please you: I am somewhat
bashful to speak on't.

_Isa_. Out with it, man.

_Tob_. Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was
with child.

_Isa_. I told you so, uncle.

_Non_. To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing
before.

_Tob_. I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to
the heart of me.

_Isa_. Alas, poor Toby!

_Non_. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!--You shall not
stay a minute in my service.

_Tob_. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the
first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children
by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge
upon myself--

_Non_. Begone! I will not hear a word.

_Tob_. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook,
is as bad as I am.

_Non_. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I
must account with him on another score, now I think on't.

_Enter_ AMBROSE TINIS.

_Non_. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the
table yesterday?

_Amb_. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't.

_Isa_. I feared as much.

_Amb_. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me
in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work.
Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of
a mischance.

_Non_. Why, are you with child, sirrah?

_Amb_. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not
that ever I deserved for't.

_Non_. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning.

_Enter_ SETSTONE.

_Set_. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and
have so longed for cherries!

_Non_. He's poopt too.

_Isa_. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more
than I will speak of.

_Non_. What dost thou suspect, ha!

_Isa_. Is not your lordship with child, too?

_Non_. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou
see by me, to ground it on?

_Isa_. You're ver