Pinch. Why, I have married no London wife.
Horn. Pshaw! that's all one. That grave circumspection in marrying a country wife, is like refusing a deceitful pampered Smithfield jade, to go and be cheated by a friend in the country.
Pinch. [Aside.] A pox on him and his simile!—[Aloud.] At least we are a little surer of the breed there, know what her keeping has been, whether foiled or unsound.
Horn. Come, come, I have known a clap gotten in Wales; and there are cousins, justices' clerks, and chaplains in the country, I won't say coachmen. But she's handsome and young?
Pinch. [Aside.] I'll answer as I should do.—[Aloud.] No, no; she has no beauty but her youth, no attraction but her modesty: wholesome, homely, and huswifely; that's all.
Dor. He talks as like a grazier as he looks.
Pinch. She's too awkward, ill-favoured, and silly to bring to town.
Har. Then methinks you should bring her to be taught breeding.
Pinch. To be taught! no, sir, I thank you. Good wives and private soldiers should be ignorant—I'll keep her from your instructions, I warrant you.
Har. The rogue is as jealous as if his wife were not ignorant. [Aside.