Answer:
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.
My fingers itch.Wife, we scarce thought us blest
165That 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.
Out on her, hilding!