VAL. Pox take ’em, their conjunction bodes me no good, I’m sure.
MRS. FRAIL. Now you talk of conjunction, my brother Foresight has cast both their nativities, and prognosticates an admiral and an eminent justice of the peace to be the issue male of their two bodies; ’tis the most superstitious old fool! He would have persuaded me that this was an unlucky day, and would not let me come abroad. But I invented a dream, and sent him to Artimedorus for interpretation, and so stole out to see you. Well, and what will you give me now? Come, I must have something.
VAL. Step into the next room, and I’ll give you something.
SCAN. Ay, we’ll all give you something.
MRS. FRAIL. Well, what will you all give me?
VAL. Mine’s a secret.
MRS. FRAIL. I thought you would give me something that would be a trouble to you to keep.
VAL. And Scandal shall give you a good name.
MRS. FRAIL. That’s more than he has for himself. And what will you give me, Mr. Tattle?
TATT. I? My soul, madam.