Enter Mrs. Joyner and Mrs. Crossbite.
Mrs. Joyn. Good morrow, gossip.
Mrs. Cros. Good morrow;—but why up so early, good gossip?
Mrs. Joyn. My care and passionate concern for you and yours would not let me rest, in truly.
Mrs. Cros. For me and mine?
Mrs. Joyn. You know we have known one another long; I think it be some nine-and-thirty years since you were married.
Mrs. Cros. Nine-and thirty years old, mistress! I'd have you to know, I am no far-born child; and if the register had not been burned in the last great fire, alas!—but my face needs no register sure; nine-and-thirty years old, said you?
Mrs. Joyn. I said you had been so long married; but, indeed, you bear your years as well as any she in Pepper-alley.
Mrs. Cros. Nine-and-thirty, mistress!
Mrs. Joyn. This it is; a woman, now-a-days, had rather you should find her faulty with a man, I warrant you, than discover her age, I warrant you.