TATT. The least in the world—that is for my part: I speak for myself. Gad, I never had the least thought of serious kindness.—I never liked anybody less in my life. Poor woman! Gad, I’m sorry for her too, for I have no reason to hate her neither; but I believe I shall lead her a damned sort of a life.
MRS. FORE. He’s better than no husband at all—though he’s a coxcomb. [To Frail.]
MRS. FRAIL [to her]. Ay, ay, it’s well it’s no worse.—Nay, for my part I always despised Mr. Tattle of all things; nothing but his being my husband could have made me like him less.
TATT. Look you there, I thought as much. Pox on’t, I wish we could keep it secret; why, I don’t believe any of this company would speak of it.
MRS. FRAIL. But, my dear, that’s impossible: the parson and that rogue Jeremy will publish it.
TATT. Ay, my dear, so they will, as you say.
ANG. Oh, you’ll agree very well in a little time; custom will make it easy to you.
TATT. Easy! Pox on’t, I don’t believe I shall sleep to-night.
SIR SAMP. Sleep, quotha! No; why, you would not sleep o’ your wedding-night? I’m an older fellow than you, and don’t mean to sleep.
BEN. Why, there’s another match now, as thof a couple of privateers were looking for a prize and should fall foul of one another. I’m sorry for the young man with all my heart. Look you, friend, if I may advise you, when she’s going—for that you must expect, I have experience of her—when she’s going, let her go. For no matrimony is tough enough to hold her; and if she can’t drag her anchor along with her, she’ll break her cable, I can tell you that. Who’s here? The madman?