Isa. You're very round of late;—that's all, sir.
Non. Round! that's only fat, I hope. I have had a very good stomach of late, I'm sure.
Isa. Alas, and well you may;—You eat for two, sir.
Non. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe any alteration in me?
Set. I would not dishearten your ladyship—your lordship, I would say—but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i'the face, and mighty puffed i'the body.
Non. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family.
Const. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not there a mist before 'em?
Isa. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly—When do you look, uncle?
Non. Uh, uh!—Methinks, I am very sick o'the sudden.
Isa. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? Shall I give you a shift, uncle?