Lockit. If men were answerable for the Follies and Frailties of their Wives and Daughters, no Friends could keep a good Correspondence together for two Days.—This in unkind of you, Brother; for among good Friends, what they say or do goes for nothing.
Enter a Servant.
Servant. Sir, here’s Mrs. Diana Trapes wants to speak with you.
Peachum. Shall we admit her, Brother Lockit?
Lockit. By all means,—She’s a good Customer, and a fine-spoken Woman—And a Woman who drinks and talks so freely, will enliven the Conversation.
Peachum. Desire her to walk in. Exit Servant.
Peachum, Lockit, Mrs. Trapes.
Peachum. Dear Mrs. Dye, your Servant—One may know by your Kiss, that your Ginn is excellent.
Mrs. Trapes. I was always very curious in my Liquors.
Lockit. There is no perfum’d Breath like it—I have been long acquainted with the Flavour of those Lips—Han’t I, Mrs. Dye.