Aria. To pray for that dear Stranger—And see, my Prayers are heard, and he’s return’d in safety—this Door shall shelter me to o’er-hear the Quarrel. [Steps aside.
Enter Will. Blunt, Feth. looking big, and putting up his Sword.
Feth. The noble Captain be affronted by a starch’d Ruff and Beard, a Coward in querpo, a walking Bunch of Garlick, a [pickl’d Pilchard]! abuse the noble Captain, and bear it off in State, [like a Christmas Sweet-heart]; these things must not be whilst Nicholas Fetherfool wears a Sword.
Blunt. Pox o’ these Women, I thought no good would come on’t: besides, where’s the Jest in affronting honest Women, if there be such a thing in the Nation?
Feth. Hang’t,’twas the Devil and all—
Will. Ha, ha, ha! Why, good honest homespun Country Gentlemen, who do you think those were?
Feth. Were! why, Ladies of Quality going to their Devotion; who should they be?
Blunt. Why, faith, and so I thought too.
Will. Why, that very one Woman I spoke to is ten Whores in Surrey.
Feth. Prithee speak softly, Man: ’Slife, we shall be poniarded for keeping thee company.