Mary. How does he bear himself?
Val. A great deal better;
Why do you blush? the Gentleman will do well.
Mary. I should be glad on't, Sir.
Val. How does his father?
Hyl. As mad a worm as e'er he was.
Val. I lookt for't:
Shall we enjoy your Company?
Hyl. I'll wait on ye:
Only a thought or two.
Val. We bar all prayers. [Exeunt all but Hylas.
Hyl. This last Wench! I, this last wench was a fair one,
A dainty Wench, a right one; a Devil take it,
What do I ail? to have fifteen now in liking,
Enough a Man would think to stay my stomach?
But what's fifteen, or fifteen score to my thoughts?
And wherefore are mine Eyes made, and have lights,
But to encrease my Objects? This last Wench
Sticks plaguey close to me, a hundred pound
I were as close to her; If I lov'd now,
As many foolish men do, I should run mad.