Wid. Nephew, I'll swear I'll be gone.
Capt. Hold her, Ned [He points at Sad], she goes not yet; there's a fourth kind of women that concerns her more than all the rest—ecce signum! She is one of those who, clothed in purple, triumph over their dead husbands; these will be catched at first sight, and at first sight must be caught. 'Tis a bird that must be shot flying, for they never sit. If a man delay, they cool, and fall into considerations of jointure and friends' opinion; in which time, if she hears thou keep'st a wench, thou hadst better be a beggar in her opinion; for then her pride, it may be, would betray her to the vanity of setting up a proper man (as they call it); but for a wencher no argument prevails with your widow; for she believes they have spent too much that way to be able to pay her due benevolence.
Wid. As I live, I'll be gone, if you speak one word more of this uncivil subject.
Jolly. Captain, let me kiss thy cheek for that, widow. You understand this, widow? I say no more. Here, captain, here's to thee! As it goes down, a pox of care!
Wid. Jesus! Master Jolly, have you no observations of the court, that are so affected with this of the town.
Con. Faith, they say, there's good sport there sometimes.
Plea. Master Jolly is afraid to let us partake of his knowledge.
Jolly. No, faith, madam.
Capt. By this drink, if he stay till I have eaten a few more, I'll describe it.