Enter Boy.
Boy. My Lady Brumpton's below.
L. Ha. I'll run, then.
Cam. No, no, stand your ground. You, a soldier's wife? Come, we'll rally her to death.
Ld. H. Prithee, entertain her a little, while I go in for a moment's thought on this occasion. [Exit.
L. Ha. She has more wit than us both.
Cam. Pshaw, no matter for that; be sure, as soon as the sentence is out of my mouth, to clap in with something else; and laugh at all I say. I'll be grateful, and burst myself at my pretty, witty wife. We'll fall in slap upon her; she shan't have time to say a word of the running away.
Enter Lady Brumpton and Trusty.
Oh, my Lady Brumpton, your ladyship's most obedient servant: This is my Lady Harriot Campley. Why, madam, your ladyship is immediately in your mourning. Nay, as you have more wit than anybody, so (what seldom wits have) you have more prudence, too. Other widows have nothing in a readiness but a second husband; but you, I see, had your very weeds and dress lying by you.