Taf. What say'st thou then to nimble Sir
Oliver Small-shanks?
Adri. Faith, he must hit the hair; a fellow fit
To make a pretty cuckold. Take an old man:
'Tis now the newest fashion: better be
An old man's darling than a young man's warling.[362]
Take me the old brisk knight: the fool is rich,
And will be strong enough to father children,
Though not to get them.
Taf. 'Tis true: he is the man.
Yet will I bear some dozen more in hand,[363]
And make them all my gulls.
Adri. Mistress, stand aside.
Enter Boutcher and Constantia.
Young Boutcher comes: let me alone to touch him.
Bout. This is the house.
Con. And that's the chamber-maid.
Bout. Where's the widow, gentle Adriana?
Adri. The widow, sir, is not to be spoken to.