Cokes. O Numps, have I brought you about? come, mistress Grace, and sister, I am resolute Bat, i’faith, still.
Grace. Truly, I have no such fancy to the Fair, nor ambition to see it: there’s none goes thither of any quality or fashion.
Cokes. O Lord, sir! you shall pardon me, mistress Grace, we are enow of ourselves to make it a fashion; and for qualities, let Numps alone, he’ll find qualities.
Quar. What a rogue in apprehension is this, to understand her language no better!
Winw. Ay, and offer to marry her! Well, I will leave the chase of my widow for to-day, and directly to the Fair. These flies cannot, this hot season, but engender us excellent creeping sport.
Quar. A man that has but a spoonful of brain would think so.—Farewell, John.
[Exeunt Quarlous and Winwife.
Lit. Win, you see ’tis in fashion to go to the Fair, Win; we must to the Fair too, you and I, Win. I have an affair in the Fair, Win, a puppet-play of mine own making, say nothing, that I writ for the motion-man, which you must see, Win.
Mrs. Lit. I would I might, John; but my mother will never consent to such a profane motion, she will call it.
Lit. Tut, we’ll have a device, a dainty one: Now, Wit, help at a pinch, good Wit, come, come, good Wit, an it be thy will! I have it, Win, I have it i’faith, and ’tis a fine one. Win, long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, in the Fair, do you see, in the heart of the Fair, not at Pye-corner. Your mother will do any thing, Win, to satisfy your longing, you know; pray thee long presently; and be sick o’ the sudden, good Win. I’ll go in and tell her; cut thy lace in the mean time, and play the hypocrite, sweet Win.