Val. The widow is drunk too.
Wid. You out of this, which is a fine discretion, give out the matter's done, you have won and wed me, and that you have put, fairly put for an heir too, these are fine rumours to advance my credit: i'th' name of mischief what did you mean?
Val. That you loved me, and that you might be brought to marrie me? why, what a Devil do you mean, widow?
Wid. 'Twas a fine trick too, to tell the world though you had enjoyed your first wish you wished, the wealth you aimed at, that I was poor, which is most true, I am, have sold my lands, because I love not those vexations, yet for mine honours sake, if you must be prating, and for my credits sake in the Town.
Val. I tell thee widow, I like thee ten times better, now thou hast no Lands, for now thy hopes and cares lye on thy husband, if e're thou marryest more.
Wid. Have not you married me, and for this main cause, now as you report it, to be your Nurse?
Val. My Nurse? why, what am I grown to, give me the Glass, my Nurse.
Wid. You n'er said truer, I must confess I did a little favour you, and with some labour might have been perswaded, but when I found I must be hourly troubled, with making broths, and dawbing your decayes with swadling, and with stitching up your ruines, for the world so reports.
Val. Do not provoke me.
Wid. And half an eye may see.