Mrs. Caut. Married! so, I told you what 'twould come to.
Don. You told us!—
Mons. Nay, she is setting up for the reputation of a witch.
Don. Married!—Juan, Sanchez, Pedro, arm! arm! arm!
Mrs. Caut. A witch! a witch!
Hip. Nay, indeed, father, now we are married, you had better call the fiddlers.—Call 'em, Prue, quickly. [Exit Prue.
Mons. Who do you say, married, man?
Par. Was I not sent for on purpose to marry 'em? why should you wonder at it?
Mons. No, no, you were to marry me, man, to her; I knew there was a mistake in't somehow; you were merely mistaken, therefore you must do your business over again for me now.—The parson was mistaken, uncle, it seems, ha! ha! ha!
Mrs. Caut. I suppose five or six guineas made him make the mistake, which will not be rectified now, nephew. They'll marry all that come near 'em, and, for a guinea or two, care not what mischief they do, nephew.