Winw. No, master Littlewit, why?
Lit. You are not mad enough.
Winw. How! is madness a right course?
Lit. I say nothing, but I wink upon Win. You have a friend, one master Quarlous, comes here sometimes.
Winw. Why, he makes no love to her, does he?
Lit. Not a tokenworth that ever I saw, I assure you: but—
Winw. What?
Lit. He is the more mad-cap of the two. You do not apprehend me.
Mrs. Lit. You have a hot coal in your mouth, now, you cannot hold.
Lit. Let me out with it, dear Win.