Sir John. The pleasure of play is lost, when one loses at that unreasonable rate.
Sir Mart. But I have sworn not to touch either cards or dice this half year.
Sir John. The oaths of losing gamesters are most minded; they forswear play as an angry servant does his mistress, because he loves her but too well.
Sir Mart. But I am now taken up with thoughts of another nature; I am in love, sir.
Sir John. That's the worst game you could have played at; scarce one woman in an hundred will play with you upon the square. You venture at more uncertainty than at a lottery: For you set your heart to a whole sex of blanks. But is your mistress widow, wife, or maid?
Sir Mart. I can assure you, sir, mine is a maid; the heiress of a wealthy family, fair to a miracle.
Sir John. Does she accept your service?
Sir Mart. I am the only person in her favour.
Enter Warner.
Sir John. Is she of town or country?