Sir Jol. What, nobody tickle me! nobody tickle me!—not yet? Tickle me a little, Mally—tickle me a little, Jenny—do! he, he, he, he, he, he! [They tickle him.] No more, O dear, O dear! poor rogues! so, so, no more,—nay, if you do, if you do, odd I'll, I'll, I'll—
3rd Whore. What, what will you do, trow?
Sir Jol. Come along with me, come along with me; sneak after me at a distance, that nobody take notice: swingeing fellows, Mally—swingeing fellows, Jenny; a devilish deal of money: get you afore me then, you little didappers, ye wasps, ye wagtails, get you gone, I say; swingeing fellows! [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—A Room in Sir Davy Dunce's House.
Enter Lady Dunce and Sylvia.
L. Dunce. Die a maid, Sylvia, fie, for shame! what a scandalous resolution's that! Five thousand pounds to your portion, and leave it all to hospitals, for the innocent recreation hereafter of leading apes in hell?[31] fie, for shame!
Sylv. Indeed, such another charming animal as your consort, Sir Davy, might do much with me; 'tis an unspeakable blessing to lie all night by a horseload of diseases; a beastly, unsavoury, old, groaning, grunting, wheezing wretch, that smells of the grave he's going to already. From such a curse, and haircloth next my skin, good Heaven deliver me!
L. Dunce. Thou mistakest the use of a husband, Sylvia: they are not meant for bedfellows; heretofore, indeed, 'twas a fulsome fashion, to lie o' nights with a husband; but the world's improved, and customs altered.