Pinch. Ha!—
Alith. That's by my example too!
Pinch. Nay, if you are not well, but are so concerned, because a lewd fellow chanced to lie, and say he liked you, you'll make me sick too.
Mrs. Pinch. Of what sickness?
Pinch. O, of that which is worse than the plague, jealousy.
Mrs. Pinch. Pish, you jeer! I'm sure there's no such disease in our receipt-book at home.
Pinch. No, thou never met'st with it, poor innocent.—Well, if thou cuckold me, 'twill be my own fault—for cuckolds and bastards are generally makers of their own fortune. [Aside.
Mrs. Pinch. Well, but pray, bud, let's go to a play to-night.
Pinch. 'Tis just done, she comes from it. But why are you so eager to see a play?