Blunt. Why, how now, Justice, what run mad out of Dog-days?
Feth. Of a comely Countenance and Grace is she,
A sweeter Creature in the World there could not be.
Shift. Why, what the Devil’s the matter, Sir?
Blunt. Stark mad, ’dshartlikins.
Feth. Of a Comely Countenance—well, Lieutenant, the most heroick and illustrious Madona! Thou saw’st her, Ned: And of a comely Counte—The most Magnetick Face—well—I knew the Charms of these Eyes of mine were not made in vain: I was design’d for great things, that’s certain—And a sweeter Creature in the World there could not be. [Singing.
Blunt. What then the two Lady Monsters are forgotten? the Design upon the Million of Money, the Coach and Six, and Patent for Right Worshipful, all drown’d in the Joy of this new Mistress?—But well, Lieutenant, since he is so well provided for, you may put in with me for a Monster; such a Jest, and such a Sum, is not to be lost.
Shift. Nor shall not, or I have lost my Aim. [Aside.
Feth. [Putting off his Hat.] Your Pardons, good Gentlemen; and tho I perceive I shall have no great need for so trifling a Sum as a hundred thousand Pound, or so, yet a Bargain’s a Bargain, Gentlemen.
Blunt. Nay,’dsheartlikins, the Lieutenant scorns to do a foul thing, d’ye see, but we would not have the Monsters slighted.