Mrs. Lit. Yes, goodman. They do so all-to-be-madam me, I think they think me a very lady.
Edg. What else, madam?
Mrs. Lit. Must I put off my mask to him?
Edg. O, by no means.
Mrs. Lit. How should my husband know me then?
Knock. Husband! an idle vapour; he must not know you, nor you him: there’s the true vapour.
Over. Yea! I will observe more of this. [Aside.] Is this a lady, friend?
Whit. Ay, and dat is anoder lady, shweet-heart; if dou hasht a mind to ’em, give me twelve-pence from tee, and dou shalt have eder oder on ’em.
Over. Ay, this will prove my chiefest enormity: I will follow this. [Aside.