Ash. What do thee do here with my Sue, eh?
Handy, jun. With your Sue!—she's mine—mine by a husband's right.
Ash. Husband! what, thee Sue's husband?
Handy, jun. I soon shall be.
Ash. But how tho'?—What! faith and troth?—What! like as I married Dame?
Handy, jun. Yes.
Ash. What! axed three times!
Handy, jun. Yes; and from this moment I'll maintain, that the real temple of love is a parish church—Cupid is a chubby curate—his torch is the sexton's lantern—and the according pæan of the spheres is the profound nasal thorough bass of the clerk's Amen.
Ash. Huzza! only to think now—my blessing go with you, my children!
Dame. And mine.