Dal. What, deliver up my evidence, that's the testimony of my virtue, and thy wickedness?
Carl. I'll search your petticoat.
Dal. Dare but touch my petticoat, and I'll cry out a rape against thee.
Carl. Oh thou Eve of Genesis! thou wouldst have tempted the serpent, if thou hadst been there.
Dal. The next news you hear is of my wedding; be patient, and you shall be invited to the dinner.
Carl. I say no more; but I'll go home and indite iambics: thou shalt not want for an epithalamium; I'll do thy business in verse. [Exit.
Dal. My comfort is, I have done your business in prose already.
The wittiest men are all but women's tools;
'Tis our prerogative, to make them fools.
For one sweet look, the rich, the beaux, the braves,