Dull. Some damned Sharper that would lay his Knife aboard your Widow, Cornet.
Tim. Zoors, if I thought so, I’d arrest him for Salt and Battery, lay him in Prison for a swinging Fine, and take no Bail.
Dull. Nay, had it not been before my Mistress here, Mrs. Chrisante, I had swinged him for his Yesterday’s Affront;—ah, my sweet Mistress Chrisante—if you did but know what a power you have over me—
Chris. Oh, you’re a great Courtier, Major.
Dull. Would I were any thing for your sake, Madam.
Ran. Thou art anything, but what thou shouldst be; prithee, Major, leave off being an old Buffoon, that is, a Lover turn’d ridiculous by Age, consider thy self a mere rouling Tun of Nantz,—a walking Chimney, ever smoaking with nasty [Mundungus], and then thou hast a Countenance like an old worm-eaten Cheese.
Dull. Well, Widow, you will joke, ha, ha, ha—
Tim. Gad’ Zoors, she’s pure company, ha, ha—
Dull. No matter for my Countenance,—Col. Downright likes my Estate, and is resolved to have it a match.
Friend. Dear Widow, take off your damned Major, for if he speak another word to Chrisante, I shall be put past all my patience, and fall foul upon him.