Mons. Bon, bon.
Prue. Well, well, young mistress; you were not at Hackney school for nothing, I see; nor taken away for nothing.—A woman may soon be too old, but is never too young to shift for herself. [Aside.
Mons. Ha! ha! ha! cousine, dou art a merry grig, ma foi!—I long to be with Gerrard; and I am the best at improving a jest—I shall have such divertisement to-night, tête bleu!
Hip. He'll deny, may be, at first, that he ever courted any such lady.
Mons. Nay, I am sure he'll be ashamed of it, I shall make him look so sillily, tête non!—I long to find him out.—Adieu, adieu, la cousine.
Hip. Shall you be sure to find him?
Mons. Indubitablement, I'll search the town over, but I'll find him: ha! ha! ha!—[Exit Monsieur, and returns.]—But I'm afraid, cousine, if I should tell him you are to be my wife to-morrow, he would not come: now, I am for having him come for the jest's sake, ventre!—
Hip. So am I, cousin, for having him come too for the jest's sake.
Mons. Well, well, leave it to me:—ha! ha! ha!