Brass. Is your mistress dress'd?
Flip. What, already? Is the fellow drunk?
Brass. Why, with respect to her looking-glass, it's almost two.
Flip. What then, fool?
Brass. Why then it's time for the mistress of the house to come down, and look after her family.
Flip. Pr'ythee don't be an owl. Those that go to bed at night may rise in the morning; we that go to bed in the morning rise in the afternoon.
Brass. When does she make her visits then?
Flip. By candle-light; it helps off a muddy complexion; we women hate inquisitive sun-shine: but do you know that my Lady is going to turn good housewife?
Brass. What, is she going to die?
Flip. Die!