Bright. Is it not pity, but, besides the gift
Of making caudles, and using of her pencil,
She had the trick o' th' other sex?
Aur. Methinks
Your own good breeding might instruct you that
My house is not a new foundation, where
You might, paying the rate, approach, be rude,
Give freedom to your unwash'd mouths.
Dor. My lady
Keeps no poor nuns, that sin for victuals, for you,
With whom this dead vacation[250] you may trade
For old silk stockings and half-shirts. They say
You do offend o' th' score, and sin in chalk,[251]
And the dumb walls complain you are behind
In pension;[252] so that your distressed vestals
Are fain to foot their stockings, pay the brewer
And landlord's rent in woman-kind, and long
More earnestly for the term than Norfolk lawyers.
Bright. Why, you have got a second, lady: your woman
Doth speak good country language.
New. Offers at wit, and shows teeth for a jest.
Bright. We hear you are to marry an old citizen.
Aur. Then surely you were not deaf.
New. And do you mean his age—
Which hath seen all the kingdom buried thrice,
To whom the heat of August is December. [Exit Dorcas.
Who, were he but in Italy, would save
The charge of marble vaults, and cool the air
Better than ventiducts—shall freeze between
Your melting arms? Do but consider, he
But marries you as he would do his furs,
To keep him warm.
Aur. But he is rich, sir.
Bright. Then,
In wedding him you wed more infirmities
Than ever Galen wrote of: he has pains
That put the doctors to new experiments.
Half his diseases in the city bill
Kill hundreds weekly: alone [an] hospital
Were but enough for him.