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WIDOW.
Well, I will not stick with you now for a kiss.
Daughter, kiss the Gentleman for once.
FRANCES.
Yes, forsooth.
TIP.
I'm proud of such a favour.
WIDOW.
Truly la, sir Oliver, y'are much to blame to come again, when you know my mind, so well deliverd as a Widdow could deliver a thing.
MUCK.
But I expect a farther comfort, Lady.
WIDOW.
Why la you now, did I not desire you to put off your suit quite and clean, when you came to me again? how say you?
did I not?
MUCK.
But the sincere love which my heart bears you--
WIDOW.
Go to, I'll cut you off: and Sir Oliver, to put you in comfort a far off, my fortune is read me: I must marry again.
MUCK.
O blest fortune!
WIDOW.
But not as long as I can choose;--nay, I'll hold out well.
MUCK.
Yet are my hopes now fairer.
[Enter Frailty.]
FRAILTY.
O Madam, Madam.
WIDOW.
How now, what's the haste?
[In her ear.]
TIP.
Faith, Mistress Frances, I'll maintain you gallantly. I'll bring you to Court, wean you among the fair society of ladies, poor Kinswomen of mine, in cloth of silver: beside, you shall have your Monkey, your Parrot, your Muskrat, and your p.i.s.se, p.i.s.se, p.i.s.se.
FRANCES.
It will do very well.
WIDOW.
What, dos he mean to conjure here then? how shall I do be rid of these Knights?--Please you, Gentlemen, to walk a while ith Garden: go gather a pink, or a Lily-flower.
BOTH.
With all our hearts, Lady, and court us favourd.
[Exit. Within Sir G.o.dfrey.]
SIR G.o.dFREY.
Step in, Nicholas; look, is the coast clear.
NICHOLAS.
Oh, as clear as a Cat's eye, sir.
SIR G.o.dFREY.
Then enter, Captain Conjurer:--now--how like you your Room, sir?
[Enter Sir G.o.dfrey, Captain Pye-board, Edmond, Nicholas.]
CAPTAIN.
O, wonderful convenient.
EDMOND.
I can tell you, Captain, simply tho it lies here, tis the fairest Room in my Mother's house: as dainty a Room to Conjure in, me thinks--why, you may bid, I cannot tell how many devils welcome in't; my Father has had twenty here at once.
PYE.
What, devils?
EDMOND.
Devils? no, Deputies, and the wealthiest men he could get.
SIR G.o.dFREY.
Nay, put by your chats now, fall to your business roundly: the feskewe of the Dial is upon the Chrisse-crosse of Noon, but oh, hear me, Captain, a qualm comes ore my stomach.
CAPTAIN.
Why, what's the matter, sir?
SIR G.o.dFREY.
Oh, how if the devil should prove a knave, and tear the hangings?
CAPTAIN.
Fuh, I warrant you, Sir G.o.dfrey.
EDMOND.
Aye, Nuncle, or spit fire up'oth ceiling!
SIR G.o.dFREY.
Very true, too, for tis but thin plastered, and twill quickly take hold a the laths, and if he chance to spit downward too, he will burn all the boards.
