Wid. No sure, not drunk, Sir; yet I love good Wine, as I love health and joy of heart, but temperately, why do you ask that question?
Val. For that sin that they most charge you with, is this sin's servant, they say you are monstrous—
Wid. What, Sir, what?
Pal. Most strangely.
Wid. It has a name sure?
Pal. Infinitely lustful, without all bounds, they swear you kill'd your Husband.
Wid. Let us have it all for Heavens sake, 'tis good mirth, Sir.
Val. They say you will have four now, and those four stuck in four quarters, like four winds to cool you: will she not cry nor curse?
Wid. On with your story.
Val. And that you are forcing out of dispensations with sums of money to that purpose.