That which chance sends you must correct by art.
Dem. Oh rare Corrector!—By your art no less
Than twenty minæ have been thrown away
On yonder Music-wench; who out of hand,
Must be sent packing; if no buyer, gratis.
Micio. Not in the least; nor do I mean to sell her.
Dem. What will you do, then?
Micio. Keep her in my house.
Dem. Oh Heav’n and earth! a harlot and a wife
In the same house!