watery beams; Her whip of cricket’s bone; the lash, of film; Her waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a ball; My words would bandy her to church; For though fond nature bids us all lament, Yet nature’s tears are womanish, thy wild acts denote The unreasonable fury of a worse. NURSE. You say you to church. I must needs wake you. Lady! Lady! Lady! Lady! Lady! Lady! Lady! Alas, alas! Help, help!