Doc. I would I knew your meaning, sir.
Clown. If she have a mind to a fresh husband or so, use her as well as you can; let her enter into as easy bands as may be.
Doc. Sir, this is none of my traffic; I sell no husbands.
Clown. Then you do wrong, sir; for you take money for 'em: what woman can have a husband, but you must have custom for him? and often the ware proves naught too—not worth the impost.
Doc. Your man's pregnant[55] and merry, mistress.
Wid. He's saucy, sir. Sirrah, you'll begone?
Clown. Nay, at the second hand you'll have a fee too; you sell in the church; and[56] they bring 'em again to your churchyard, you must have tollage: methinks, if a man die whether you will or no, he should be buried whether you would or no.
Doc. Nay, now you wade too far, sir.
Wid. You'll begone, sirrah!
Clown. Mistress, make him your friend; for he knows what rate good husbands are at; if there hath been a dearth of women of late, you may chance pick out a good prize; but take heed of a clerk.