Sir John. What, this Mistress of yours runs in your Head! I'll warrant it's some such squeamish Minx as my Wife, that's grown so dainty of late, she finds fault even with a dirty Shirt.
Heart. That a Woman may do, and not be very dainty, neither.
Sir John. Pox o' the Women! let's drink. Come, you shall take one Glass, tho' I send for a Box of Lozenges to sweeten your Mouth after it.
Const. Nay, if one Glass will satisfy you, I'll drink it, without putting you to that Expence.
Sir John. Why, that's honest. Fill some Wine, Sirrah: So here's to you, Gentlemen—A Wife's the Devil. To your being both married.
[They drink.
Heart. O, your most humble Servant, Sir.
Sir John. Well, how do you like my Wine?
Const. 'Tis very good, indeed.
Heart. 'Tis admirable.