Wid. How cheers she, pray?
Wife. In troth, exceeding ill.
Mrs Sel. A very weak woman indeed she is, and surely I think cannot 'scape it.
Hus. Did you mark how she eyed the physician?
Wife. O God, ay, she is very loth to die.
Mrs Sel. Ay; that's ne'er the better sign, I can tell you.
Sub. And when the parson came to her, she turned
Away, and still let the physician hold
Her by the hand.
Bold. But see what thought the bridegroom takes.
My conscience knows, now, this is
A most preposterous match; yet for the commodity,
We wink at all inconveniency.
My lord! my lord!
Count. Um, um, um! I beshrew you for waking of me; now shall I have such a fit of coughing, um, um!—
Bold. O hapless wife, that shall have thee, that either must let thee sleep continually, or be kept waking herself by the cough.