Fast. I say, lose your Plebeian Goals, and let me reach my Love.
Mar. Well, that's your own; but 'twill do. You may speak it, Mr. Powell.
L. Whim. What, the Sorceress! thy Father's Wife, rash Boy!
Fast. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Your Wife: I have heard indeed of old Men that wanted Virgins, when vital warmth was gone.
L. Whim. To that Title do's Clemene's Impudence pretend. Speak, lewd Adultress.
La. Lov. Yes, I will speak, and own it all: Why shou'd I mince the matter, now I've lost my hopes of him? For the old Skeleton, sign alone, and shadow of a Man, I might have yet been pure: But whilst gay Youths adorn'd thy Family Clemene wou'd not sigh in vain.
Fast. What's this I hear?
Bet. My Lady dying! I am not yet prepared to bear her Company: I'll e'en shift for one. I wou'd not willingly leave this wicked World, before I have tasted a little more on't.
Mr. Prais. True, Mrs. Betty; slip behind me, and thou art gone.
Mar. See, my Lord, they are all struck in a Maze.