Old. Lady, a good and propitious morning to you; and may all your causes go as well as if I myself were judge of 'em!
Wid. Sir, excuse me; I am busy, and cannot answer compliments in Westminster Hall.—Go, Mr. Splitcause, and come to me again to that bookseller's; there I'll stay for you, that you may be sure to find me.
Old. No, sir, come to the other bookseller's. I'll attend your ladyship thither. [Exit Splitcause.
Wid. Why to the other?
Old. Because he is my bookseller, lady.
Wid. What, to sell you lozenges for your catarrh? or medicines for your corns? What else can a major deal with a bookseller for?
Old. Lady, he prints for me.
Wid. Why, are you an author?
Old. Of some few essays; deign you, lady, to peruse 'em.—[Aside.] She is a woman of parts; and I must win her by showing mine.
Bookseller's Boy. Will you see Culpepper, mistress? "Aristotle's Problems?" "The Complete Midwife?"