Herc. Some fourscore, wanting one.
Zuc. A good sober age! Is she wealthy?
Herc. Very wealthy.
Zuc. Excellent!
Herc. She has three hairs on her scalp and four teeth in her head; a brow wrinkled and pucker’d like old parchment half burnt. She has had eyes. No woman’s jawbones are more apparent; her sometimes envious lips now shrink in, and give her nose and her chin leave to kiss each other very moistly. As for her reverend mouth, it seldom opens, but the very breath that flies out of it infects the fowls of the air, and makes them drop down dead. Her breasts hang like cobwebs; her flesh will never make you cuckold; her bones may. 547
Zuc. But is she wealthy?
Herc. Very wealthy.
Zuc. And will she ha’ me, art sure?
Herc. No, sure, she will not have you. Why, do you think that a waiting-woman of three bastards, a strumpet nine times carted, or a hag whose eyes shoot poison—that
has been an old witch, and is now turning into a gib-cat,[264]—what![265] will ha’ you? Marry Don Zuccone, the contempt of women and the shame of men, that has afflicted, contemn’d so choice a perfection as Donna Zoya’s! 557