Free. What, their Wives?
Lov. Yes, their Wives. What seest thou in ’em but Hypocrisy? Make love to ’em, they answer in Scripture.
Free. Ay, and lie with you in Scripture too. Of all Whores, give me your zealous Whore; I never heard a Woman talk much of Heaven, but she was much for the Creature too. What do’st think I had thee to the Meeting for?
Lov. To hear a Rascal hold forth for Bodkins and Thimbles, Contribution, my beloved! to carry on the good Cause, that is, Roguery, Rebellion, and Treason, profaning the sacred Majesty of Heaven, and our glorious Sovereign.
Free. But—were there not pretty Women there?
Lov. Damn ’em for sighing, groaning Hypocrites.
Free. But there was one, whom that handsome Face and Shape of yours, gave more occasion for sighing, than any Mortification caus’d by the Cant of the Lay-Elder in the half Hogs-Head: Did’st thou not mind her?
Lov. Not I, damn it, I was all Rage; and hadst not thou restrain’d me, I had certainly pull’d that Rogue of a Holder forth by the Ears from his sanctify’d Tub. ’Sdeath, he hum’d and haw’d all my Patience away, nosed and snivel’d me to Madness. Heaven! That thou shouldst suffer such Vermin to infect the Earth, such Wolves amongst thy Flocks, such Thieves and Robbers of all Laws of God and Man, in thy Holy Temples. I rave to think to what thou’rt fall’n, poor England!
Free. But the she Saint—
Lov. No more; were she as fair as Fancy could imagine, to see her there wou’d make me loath the Form; she that can listen to the dull Nonsense, the bantering of such a Rogue, such an illiterate Rascal, must be a Fool, past sense of loving, Freeman.