Sir Dav. Bless us! what will become of me? Why the devil did I marry a young wife? Is he very well shaped too, tall, straight, and proportionable, ha?
Sir Jol. Tall? no, he's not very tall neither, yet he is tall enough too: he's none of your overgrown, lubberly Flanders jades, but more of the true English breed, well-knit, able, and fit for service, old boy; the fellow is well shaped truly, very well proportioned, strong and active. I have seen the rogue leap like a buck.
Sir Dav. Who can this be? Well, and what think you, friend, has he been there? Come, come, I'm sensible she's a young woman; and I am an old fellow—troth, a very old fellow, I signify little or nothing now. But do you think he has prevailed? am I cuckold, neighbour?
Sir Jol. Cuckold! what, a cuckold in Covent-garden! no, I'll assure you, I believe her to be the most virtuous woman in the world; but if you had but seen—
Sir Dav. Ay, would I had! what was it?
Sir Jol. How like a rogue she used him: first of all comes me up the spark to her. "Madam," says he—and then he bows down, thus. "How now," says she, "what would the impertinent fellow have?"
Sir Dav. Humph! ha! well, and what then?
Sir Jol. "Madam," says he again, bowing as he did before, "my heart is so entirely yours, that except you take pity on my sufferings I must here die at your feet."
Sir Dav. So, and what said she again, neighbour? ha!
Sir Jol. "Go, you are a fop."