Jar. O mistress, yonder's the mad gallant, Master Alexander Bloodhound, entered into the hall.
Wid. You should have kept him out.
Maid. Alas! ne'er a wench in town could do't, he's so nimble: I had no sooner opened the door, but he thrust in ere I was aware.
Enter Alexander.
Alex. And how does my little, handsome, dainty, delicate, well-favoured, straight and comely, delicious, bewitching widow?
Jar. 'Sfoot, here's one runs division before the fiddlers.
Wid. Sir, this is no seasonable time of visit.
Alex. 'Tis pudding-time, wench, pudding-time; and a dainty time, dinner-time, my nimble-eyed, witty one. Woot be married to-morrow, sirrah? [Sits to table.
Jar. She'll be mad to-morrow, sirrah.
Alex. What, art thou a fortune-teller?