Edg. Is not this a finer life, lady, than to be clogg’d with a husband?
Mrs. Lit. Yes, a great deal. When will they begin, trow, in the name o’ the motion?
Edg. By and by, madam; they stay but for company.
Knock. Do you hear, puppet-master, these are tedious vapours, when begin you?
Leath. We stay but for master Littlewit, the author, who is gone for his wife: and we begin presently.
Mrs. Lit. That’s I, that’s I.
Edg. That was you, lady; but now you are no such poor thing.
Knock. Hang the author’s wife, a running vapour! here be ladies will stay for ne’er a Delia of them all.
Whit. But hear me now, here ish one o’ de ladish ashleep, stay till shee but vake, man.
Enter WASPE.