Cour. What an old goat's this!
Sir Jol. Child, child, child, who's that? a friend of thine, a friend o' thine? A pretty fellow, odd, a very pretty fellow, and a strong dog I'll warrant him. How dost do, dear heart? pr'ythee let me kiss thee. I'll swear and vow I will kiss thee; ha, ha, he, he, he, he, a toad, a toad, a toa-a-a-d!
Cour. Sir, I am your humble servant.
Beau. But the lady, Sir Jolly, the lady; how does the lady? what says the lady, Sir Jolly?
Sir Jol. What says the lady! why, she says—she says—odd, she has a delicate lip, such a lip, so red, so hard, so plump, so blub; I fancy I am eating cherries every time I think on't—and for her neck and breasts, and her—odd's life! I'll say no more, not a word more; but I know, I know—
Beau. I am sorry for that with all my heart; do you know, say you, sir? and would you put off your mumbled orts,[30] your offal, upon me?
Sir Jol. Hush, hush, hush! have a care; as I live and breathe, not I; alack and well-a-day, I am a poor old fellow, decayed and done: all's gone with me, gentlemen, but my good-nature; odd, I love to know how matters go though now and then, to see a pretty wench and a young fellow touze and rouze and frouze and mouze; odd, I love a young fellow dearly, faith dearly!
Cour. This is the most extraordinary rogue I ever met withal.
Beau. But, Sir Jolly, in the first place, you must know I have sworn never to marry.
Sir Jol. I would not have thee, man: I am a bachelor myself and have been a whore-master all my life;—besides, she's married already, man; her husband's an old, greasy, untoward, ill-natured, slovenly, tobacco-taking cuckold; but plaguy jealous.