Sband's sore leg. _Mrs. Sul_. Your husband! what, woman, cure your husband! _Worn_. Ay, poor man, for his sore leg won't let him stir from home. _Mrs. Sul_. There, I confess, you have given me a reason. Well, good woman, I 'll tell you what you must do. You must lay your husband's leg upon a table, and with a chopping-knife you must lay it open as broad as you can, then you must takeout the bone, and beat the flesh soundly with a rolling-pin, then take salt, pepper, cloves, mace, and ginger, some sweet-herbs, and season it very well, then roll it up like brawn, and put it into the oven for two hours. _Worn_. Heavens reward your ladyship!--I have two little babies too that are piteous bad with the graips, an'
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