Erg. How did she look?
Phor. Faith, ashamed; she loved you so well, and sorry she had no reason to love you better.
Erg. 'Tis an excellent lady.
Phor. If I could make jointures, I would not take this pains for your honour. Cleon, whither slip you?
Cle. After Phillida.
Phor. And what success?
Cle. Pox on't! these waiting-women will not deal, unless they have earnest in their hands, and I was unprovided.
Phor. Away, unthrift![361] [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[360] [So for the metre; the old copy and Dodsley, 'cause.]