Sir John. No more than she can keep Lent.
Heart. Pr'ythee, tell it her to try, Constant.
Sir John. No, pr'ythee, don't, that I mayn't be plagu'd with it.
Const. I'll hold you a Guinea you don't make her tell it you.
Sir John. I'll hold you a Guinea I do.
Const. Which way?
Sir John. Why, I'll beg her not to tell it me.
Heart. Nay, if any thing does it, that will.
Const. But do you think, Sir——
Sir John. Oons, Sir, I think a Woman and a Secret are the two impertinentest Themes in the Universe: Therefore pray let's hear no more of my Wife, nor your Mistress. Damn 'em both with all my heart, and every thing else that daggles a Petticoat, except four generous Whores, with Betty Sands at the Head of 'em, who are drunk with my Lord Rake and I ten times in a Fortnight.