To which I said, still my eyes closed shut, still maybe I'd spew from all, “What's meaning particular?”
To which she said, “Why, it's the ordinary English beast of the two backs for most, yet some like a French way, an' others yet the Spanish, an' 'hap there's a way of your Boheme ye most like?”
Which I said, “I don't know from ways, just shtupping we say in my tongue,” and opened up my eyes and seen her, the big candle the only light in the crib was, all of this fattish old kurveh without her shift now she hung on a peg, and she wasn't comely. Which then I saw something more was a surprise made me both the more shamed and also almost to spew.
What I seen, Mutton Jane, she turned to take the only candle closer to the trundle bed where we sat, and I seen in this light her shoulders and backside, from all scars, from the whipping post.
This I seen, and knew she was what English called carted whore, because I seen sometimes by theaters and markets and assizes, beadles take a whore and put her in a cart, the which they go through the streets to the whipping post and stocks, and rude citizens from the city make from this a sport. From barbers and cooks their basins and pots they rent for a half-penny, and go all by the cart through the streets and make a noise hitting these pots and basins, a sport for them this is, which I seen before sometimes. And at the whipping post a carted whore is stripped and whipped, and sometimes also to stay in stocks, where citizens pelt with dreck and make coarse words sport also.
And when I seen Mutton Jane her scars from the whipping, I said, “Weh! You been carted to whipping!”
To which she only said, “More than the once, an' it's a foul day for Jane e'en if the sky's fair, for the whip's like teeth or knives or the sting of spiders, yet it's a merry wild time for Hob and Dick, an' never stops Jane from what she will for a shilling to buy her meats and garment and a shelter from rain and cold wind!” And then she said, “Zounds, do ye weep, man from far away Boheme? Wherefor weep ye?”
Because I weeped tears sudden from my eyes, from shame and tsoris grief from this Mutton Jane all uncovered by me on the trundle bed, and I was still also fap cup-shot in my head and guts, but no more aroused like a hot choler humor I wasn't. And I wanted to say from my tsoris and rachmones pity for her I weeped, poor kurveh Mutton Jane, but couldn't, I was too shamed and fap.
Which she laughed at me and gave me a zetz push, I fell back on the schmutzig trundle bed, and she came close by me, and I turned sudden over so my points she couldn't untie, and then I think I went sudden asleep from all I drunk from strong beer and sherry sack Bristol Milk, cup for cup, and the last I heard from her, I couldn't see no more with my punim covered from schmutz linens, she said did I maybe suffer a falling sickness. I think I tried to say her not, I was just fap and shamed and filled from tsoris that they do such, carting whores and whipping to make a sport in the streets for Hob and Dick rude mechanics, but I couldn't, my lips covered also by schmutzig linens from the trundle bed.
I don't remember my sleep there, but I did remember from putting my hands under me on our common purse so nobody couldn't take, which is where they were still when I waked. And also when I waked I seen how asleep I did spew the bed linens which was already schmutzig, and also myself my schmatta attire some also I spewed when asleep. Which I was glad Mutton Jane was gone, not to see me spewed, so shamed, and sore from Blue Eye aches in my brain and guts.
At which I went the stairs down from the cribs, and it was morning light now, and waked my Will Kempe, who sleeped with his head on our table, and our carpet knight gallants who sleeped on a pallet they made from their fashion cloaks, and only Tom Tapster was still there, all the carouse revelers and kurveh gone, the door to this Cardinal's Hat brothel stew barred shut, Tom Tapster asleep by the stinking from piss fireplace where the fire was almost gone also.
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