CIVET. Why, then, the whole. I pray, sir, what may yonder gentlewomen be?
DAFFODIL. They may be ladies, sir, if the destinies and mortalities work.
CIVET.
What’s her name, sir?
DAFFODIL. Mistress Frances Spurcock, Sir Lancelot Spurcock’s daughter.
CIVET.
Is she a maid, sir?
DAFFODIL. You may ask Pluto, and dame Proserpine that: I would be loath to be riddled, sir.
CIVET.
Is she married, I mean, sir?
DAFFODIL. The Fates knows not yet what shoemaker shall make her wedding shoes.
CIVET. I pray, where Inn you sir? I would be very glad to bestow the wine of that gentlewoman.
DAFFODIL.
At the George, sir.