Hi. Well then, I must make use of a magical Spell, or, if that won't do, Mercury's Mace.
Cr. My Margaret, you know we Poets are a Sort of Enthusiasts, I won't say Mad-Men; prithee let me intreat you to let alone this Contention 'till another Time, and treat us with good Humour at this Supper for my Sake.
Ma. What does he trouble me with his Verses for? Often when I am to go to Market he has never a Penny of Money to give me, and yet he's a humming of Verses.
Cr. Poets are such Sort of Men. But however, prithee do as I say.
Ma. Indeed I will do it for your Sake, because I know you are an honest Gentleman, that never beat your Brain about such Fooleries. I wonder how you came to fall into such Company.
Cr. How come you to think so?
Ma. Because you have a full Nose, sparkling Eyes, and a plump Body. Now do but see how he leers and sneers at me.
Cr. But prithee, Sweet-Heart, keep your Temper for my Sake.
Ma. Well, I will go, and 'tis for your Sake and no Body's else.
Hi. Is she gone?