Jolly. The lady has reason: for, being allowed but one, who would choose such weasels as we see daily married? that are all head and tail, crooked, dirty, sordid vermin, predestined for cuckolds, painted snails, with houses on their backs, and horns as big as Dutch cows! Would any woman marry such? Nay, can any woman be honest that let's such hodmandods crawl o'er her virgin breast and belly, or suffer 'em to leave their slimy paths upon their bodies only for jointures? Out! 'tis mercenary and base! The generous heart has only the laws of nature and kindness in her view, and when she will oblige, Friend is all the ties that Nature seeks; who can both bear and excuse those kind crimes. And, I believe, one as poor as the despised captain and neglected courtier may make a woman as happy in a friendship as Master Sad, who has as many faults as we have debts: one whose father had no more credit with Nature than ours had with Fortune; whose soul wears rags as well as the captain's body.
Sad. Nay, then, I'll laugh; for I perceive y' are angrier than we. Alas! h' has lost both ventures—Wanton and the widow.
Jolly. Both; and neither so unlucky as to be thy wife. Thy face is hanged with blacks already: we may see the bells toll in thy eyes. A bride and a wedding-shirt, a sexton and a winding-sheet. A scrivener to draw up jointures, a parson to make thy will, man. By this light, he's as chap-fallen as if he had lain under the table all night.
Care. Faith, Master Sad, he's parlously in the right. Ne'er think of marrying in this dull clime. Wedlock's a trade you'll ne'er go through with. Wives draw bills upon sight, and 'twill not be for your credit to protest them. Rather follow my counsel, and marry à la Venetiano, for a night and away; a pistole jointure does it: then, 'tis but repenting in the morning, and leave your woman and the sin both i' th' bed. But if you play the fool, like your friends, and marry in serious earnest, you may repent it too, as they do; but where's the remedy?
[This is spoken a little aside.
Wid. What was't you said, sir? Do you repent?
Care. By this hand, widow, I don't know: but we have pursued a jest a great way. Parson, are you sure we are married?
Par. Yes, I warrant you, for their escaping.
Care. Their escaping! Fool, thou mistakest me; there's no fear of that! But I would fain know if there be no way for me to get out of this noose? no hole to hide a man's head in from this wedlock?
Par. Not any, but what I presume she'll show you anon.