Elder Lo. Well, well, what do you mean?
Lady. Was not I once your Mistress, and you my Servant?
Elder Lo. O 'tis about the old matter.
Lady. Nay good Sir stay me out; I would but hear you excuse your self, why you should take this woman, and leave me.
Elder Lo. Prethee why not, deserves she not as much as you?
Lady. I think not, if you will look With an indifferency upon us both.
Elder Lo. Upon your faces, 'tis true: but if judiciously we shall cast our eyes upon your minds, you are a thousand women of her in worth: she cannot swound in jest, nor set her lover tasks, to shew her peevishness, and his affection, nor cross what he saies, though it be Canonical. She's a good plain wench, that will do as I will have her, and bring me lusty Boys to throw the Sledge, and lift at Pigs of Lead: and for a Wife, she's far beyond you: what can you do in a houshold to provide for your issue, but lye i' bed and get 'em? your business is to dress you, and at idle hours to eat; when she can do a thousand profitable things: she can do pretty well in the Pastry, and knows how Pullen should be cram'd, she cuts Cambrick at a thread, weaves Bone-lace, and quilts Balls; and what are you good for?
Lady. Admit it true, that she were far beyond me in all respects, does that give you a licence to forswear your self?
Elder Lo. Forswear my self, how?
Lady. Perhaps you have forgotten the innumerable oaths you have utter'd in disclaiming all for Wives but me: I'le not remember you: God give you joy.