Hast. Bless me! I quite forgot to tell her, that I intended to prepare at the bottom of the garden. Marlow here, and in spirits too!
Marl. Give me joy, George! Crown me, shadow me with laurels! Well, George, after all, we modest fellows don't want for success among the women.
Hast. Some women, you mean. But what success has your honour's modesty been crowned with now, that it grows so insolent upon us?
Marl. Didn't you see the tempting, brisk, lovely, little thing, that runs about the house, with a bunch of keys to its girdle?
Hast. Well, and what then?
Marl. She's mine, you rogue you. Such fire, such motion, such eyes, such lips—but, egad! she would not let me kiss them though.
Hast. But are you so sure, so very sure of her?
Marl. Why man, she talked of showing me her work above-stairs, and I'm to improve the pattern.
Hast. But how can you, Charles, go about to rob a woman of her honour?
Marl. Pshaw! pshaw! We all know the honour of the bar-maid of an inn. I don't intend to rob her, take my word for it; there's nothing in this house I shan't honestly pay for.