Lucy. Ha! ha! he! more ado! 'tis late.
Alith. Invincible stupidity! I tell you, he would marry me as your rival, not as your chaplain.
Spark. Come, come, madam. [Pulling her away.
Lucy. I pray, madam, do not refuse this reverend divine the honour and satisfaction of marrying you; for I dare say, he has set his heart upon't, good doctor.
Alith. What can you hope or design by this?
Har. I could answer her, a reprieve for a day only, often revokes a hasty doom. At worst, if she will not take mercy on me, and let me marry her, I have at least the lover's second pleasure, hindering my rival's enjoyment, though but for a time. [Aside.
Spark. Come, madam, 'tis e'en twelve o'clock, and my mother charged me never to be married out of the canonical hours. Come, come; Lord, here's such a deal of modesty, I warrant, the first day.
Lucy. Yes, an't please your worship, married women show all their modesty the first day, because married men show all their love the first day. [Exeunt.