Peg. Only one, Sir.
Comp. A Boy or a Girl?
Peg. A dainty fine Boy, Sir.
Comp. Just my own case still; my Wife (rest her Soul) left me a Boy too, a lusty chopping Boy of his Age (as they tell me, for I never saw it).
Peg. So is mine.
Comp. And what Profession was your Husband of?
Peg. A Seaman.
Comp. Heigh! my own Faculty too! And can you like a Man of that Profession again?
Peg. Yes surely, for his dear sake, whom I lov’d so tenderly, I shall always esteem a Sailer.
Comp. Shall you so? why then here’s your Man: What say you, Is’t a Match?