Sure. In which we all join.
Flirt. An’t please you, Sir, Mr. Dunce has long made Love to me, and on promise of Marriage has— Simpers.
Down. [What has he, Mistress?] What has he, Mrs. Flirt?
Flirt. Only been a little familiar with my Person, Sir—
Well. Do you hear, Parson—you must marry Mrs. Flirt.
Dun. How, Sir, a Man of my Coat, Sir, marry a Brandy-monger?
Well. Of your Calling you mean, a Farrier and no Parson— Aside to him.
She’ll leave her Trade, and spark it above all the Ladies at Church: No more—take her, and make her honest.
Enter Whim. and Whiff stript.
Chris. Bless me, what have we here?