Ran. Let hur come, let hur come; Randalls will redeem reputations, hur warrant hur.
Wid. Redeem your wit, sir. First for you, sir, you are a stranger; but you—fie, Master Bloodhound!
Anc. Ha! Bloodhound! good sir, let me speak with you.
Ran. Sounds, what does Randalls amongst ploodhounds? Good widows, lend hur an ear.
Alex. Ancient Young! how false our memories have played through long discontinuance![45] But why met here, man? Is Mars so bad a paymaster that our ancients fight under Cupid's banner?
Anc. Faith, this was but a sudden start, begotten from distraction of some fortunes: I pursue this widow but for want of wiser work.
Jar. The Welshman labours at it. [Aside.
Ran. A pair of a hundred of seeps, thirty prave cows, and twelve dozen of runts.
Wid. Twelve dozen of goose!
Ran. Give hur but another hark!