Am. Do you think I was blind?
I went to seek no Carrier, nor no Midwife.
Ism. What kind of man was he? thou mayst be deceiv'd Friend.
Am. A man with a nose on's face: I think he had eyes too,
And hands: for sure he took it.
Ism. What an answer!
Am. What questions are these to one that's hot and troubled?
Do you think me a Babe? am I not able (Cosin)
At my years and discretion, to deliver
A Letter handsomely? Is that such a hard thing?
Why every Wafer-woman will undertake it:
A Sempsters girl, or a Tailors wife will not miss it:
A Puritan Hostess (Cosin) would scorn these questions.
My legs are weary.
Ism. I'll make 'em well again.
Am. Are they at supper?
Ism. Yes, and I am not well,
Nor desire no company: look out, 'tis darkish.
Am. I see nothing yet: assure your self, Ismena,
If he be a man, he will not miss.
Ism. It may be he is modest,
And that may pull him back from seeing me;
Or has made some wild construction of my easiness:
I blush to think what I writ.