A New DIALOGUE between
ALICE & BETRICE,
As they met at the Market one Morning Early.
To the Tune of Mopsaphil.
This may be Printed, R.P.
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I.
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Alice. COod Neighbour why d'ye look awry? you're grown a wondrous Stranger
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You walk about, you Huff and Pout, as tho' you'd burst with Anger;
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If its for that your Fortune's great; or you so Wealthy are,
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Or else so High, there's none so nigh, that with you can compare:
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But t' other day I heard one say, your Husband durst not shew his Ears,
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But like a Lout he walks about, so full of Sighs and and Fears.
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Betrice, Good Mistress Tart, I care not a Fa---t for you nor all your Jeers.
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II.
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My Husband's known for to be one that is most Chaste and Pure,
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And would be, continually, but for such Jades as you are:
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You smack, you smick, you wash you lick, you smirk, you swear, you grin,
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You nod, you wink, and in your Drink, you strive for to draw him in.
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Alice, You Lye you Punk, you're almost Drunk, and now you Scold and make a Strife,
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With running in the Score, and playing the Wh---- you lead him a weary Life.
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Bet. Tell me so once again, you Dirty Quean, and I'll pull you by the Coif.
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III.
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Go dress your Rats, those nasty Brats, that are always Sleep and Drowsie,
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With Vermin spread, they're almost dead, they're kept so wondrous Lousie.
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Al. Pray hold you there, and do not Swear, yours are not half so sweet,
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You feed them up with bit and sup, then give 'em a dirty Teat.
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Bet. My Girls and Boys, my only Joys, they're better taught and fed than yours.
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Al. Tell me so once more, you dirty Wh----, and I'll kick you out of doors.
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Bet. 'Tis a very good Jest, pray do your best, and I' faith I'll quit the Scores.
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IV.
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Go, go, you are a silly Bear, your Husband can't away with't,
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A stinking Quean as e'er was seen, your Neighbours all will say it:
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A fulsome Trot, and good for naught, unless it be for that
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You stole a Spoon out of the Room, the last Christening you were at.
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Al. You lye you Wi---, you have got the Itch, the Parish knows you are not sound:
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See how she claws with ugly Paws, and I'll sell you to the Ground:
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You have tore my Hood, and shall make is good, if it cost me Forty Pound,
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Betrice, Take your Course.
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