Jolly. Because we want fortunes to buy rich wives or keep poor ones, and be loth to get beggars or whores, as well as I love 'em.
Plea. Why, are all their children so that have no fortune, think you?
Jolly. No, not all: I have heard of Whittington and his Cat,[231] and others, that have made fortunes by strange means, but I scarce believe my son would rise from Hop, a halfpenny and a lamb's-skin;[232] and the wenches, commonly having more wit and beauty than money, foreseeing small portions, grow sad and read romances, till their wit spy some unfortunate merit like their own, without money too; and they two sigh after one another till they grow mysterious in colours, and become a proverb for their constancy: and when their love has worn out the cause, marry in the end a new couple; then, grown ashamed of the knowledge they so long hunted, at length part by consent, and vanish into Abigail and governor.
Wid. Well, gentlemen, excuse me for this one time; and if ever I invite you to dinner again, punish me with such another discourse. In the meantime, let's go in and dine; meat stays for us.
Capt.[233] Faith, madam, we were resolved to be merry: we have not met these three years till to-day, and at the Bear we meant to have dined; and since your ladyship would have our company, you must pardon our humour. Here, Master[234] Sad, here's the widow's health to you.
[Exeunt omnes.
ACT III., SCENE 1.
Enter all from dinner.
Wid. Nephew, how do you dispose of yourself this afternoon?