Mer. My sweet.
Jul. When shall we wedded be?
Mer. What’s that? when wedded? Dear me, let me see.
Hush! love, a fearful tale I have to tell,
That but a moment since on me befell.
Your father swore point blank that you should marry
Only that spooney, the young Plaster Paris.
Jul. Never! I’ll be an old maid first.
Mer. Now, don’t you fret:
I’ll fix his flint; we may be happy yet.