W. Green. Sir, I would be alone, sir!
Sir Wil. Young enough
To dandle still her doll!
W. Green. Sir William Fondlove!
Sir Wil. Dear Widow Green!
W. Green. I hate you, sir! Detest you! Never wish
To see you more! You have ruined me! Undone me!
A blighted life I wear, and all through you!
The fairest hopes that ever woman nourished,
You’ve cankered in the very blowing! bloom
And sweet destroyed, and nothing left me, but
The melancholy stem.
Sir Wil. And all about
A little slut I gave a rattle to!—
Would pester me for gingerbread and comfits!—
A little roguish feigning! A love-trick
I played to prove your love!
W. Green. Sir William Fondlove!
If of my own house you’ll not suffer me
To be the mistress, I will leave it to you!
Sir Wil. Dear Widow Green! The ring—
W. Green. Confound the ring,
The donor of it, thee, and everything!
[Goes out.]