Sir Tim. What, do you turn away, bright Sun of Beauty?
—Hum, I’m much upon the Suns and Days this Morning.
Dia. It will not down.
[Turning on him, looks on him, and turns away.
Sir Tim. Alas, ye Gods, am I despis’d and scorn’d?
Did I for this ponder upon the Question,
Whether I should be King or Alderman?
[Heroickly.
Dia. If I must marry him, give him Patience to endure the Cuckolding, good Heaven. [Aside.
Sir Tim. Heaven! did she name Heaven, Betty?
Bet. I think she did, Sir.
Sir Tim. I do not like that: What need has she to think of Heaven upon her Wedding-day?
Dia. Marriage is a sort of Hanging, Sir; and I was only making a short Prayer before Execution.
Sir Tim. Oh, is that all? Come, come, we’ll let that alone till we’re abed, that we have nothing else to do. [Takes her Hand.
Dia. Not much, I dare swear.