Pinch. He seems to be much troubled at the match. [Aside.
Spark. Prithee, tell me—Nay, you shan't go, brother.
Pinch. I must of necessity, but I'll come to you to dinner. [Exit.
Spark. But, Harry, what, have I a rival in my wife already? But with all my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter; for though my hunger is now my sauce, and I can fall on heartily without, the time will come, when a rival will be as good sauce for a married man to a wife, as an orange to veal.
Horn. O thou damned rogue! thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy orange.
Spark. Then let's to dinner—there I was with you again. Come.
Horn. But who dines with thee?
Spark. My friends and relations, my brother Pinchwife, you see, of your acquaintance.
Horn. And his wife?
Spark. No, 'gad, he'll ne'er let her come amongst us good fellows; your stingy country coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does his little firkin of ale, for his own drinking, and a gentleman can't get a smack on't; but his servants, when his back is turned, broach it at their pleasures, and dust it away, ha! ha! ha!—'Gad, I am witty, I think, considering I was married to-day, by the world; but come—