Hum. The Devil cannot stay her, she’l on’t, eat an egg now, and then we must away.

Short. I am gaul’d already, yet I will pray, may London wayes from henceforth be full of holes, and Coaches crack their wheels, may zealous Smiths so housel all our Hackneys, that they may feel compunction in their feet, and tire at High-gate, may it rain above all Almanacks till Carriers sail, and the Kings Fish-monger ride like Bike Arion upon a Trout to London.

Hum. At S. Albanes, let all the Inns be drunk, not an Host sober to bid her worship welcom.

Short. Not a Fiddle, but all preach’t down with Puritans; no meat but Legs of Beef.

Hum. No beds but Wool-Packs.

Short. And those so crammed with Warrens of starved Fleas that bite like Bandogs; let Mims be angry at their S. Bel-Swagger, and we pass in the heat on’t and be beaten, beaten abominably, beaten horse and man, and all my Ladies linnen sprinkled with suds and dish-water.

Short. Not a wheel but out of joynt.

Enter Roger laugh-ing.

Hum. Why dost thou laugh?

Rog. There’s a Gentleman, and the rarest Gentleman, and makes the rarest sport.

Short. Where, where?

Rog. Within here, h’as made the gayest sport with Tom the Coachman, so tewed him up with Sack that he lies lashing a But of Malmsie for his Mares.

Short. ’Tis very good.

Rog. And talks and laughs, and sings the rarest songs, and Shorthose, he has so maul’d the Red Deer pies, made such an alms i’th’ butterie.

Short. Better still.

Enter Val.  Widow.

Hum. My Lady in a rage with the Gentleman?

Short. May he anger her into a feather. [Exeunt.

Wid. I pray tell me, who sent you hither? for I imagine it is not your condition, you look so temperately, and like a Gentleman, to ask me these milde questions.

Val. Do you think I use to walk of errands, gentle Lady, or deal with women out of dreams from others?

Wid. You have not know[n] me sure?

Val. Not much.

Wid. What reason have you then to be so tender of my credit, you are no kinsman?

Val. If you take it so, the honest office that I came to do you, is not so heavy but I can return it:  now I perceive you are too proud, not worth my visit.

Wid. Pray stay, a little proud.

Val. Monstrous proud, I griev’d to hear a woman of your value, and your abundant parts stung by the people, but now I see ’tis true, you look upon me as if I were a rude and saucie fellow that borrowed all my breeding from a dunghil, or such a one, as should now fall and worship you in hope of pardon:  you are cozen’d Lady, I came to prove opinion a loud liar, to see a woman only great in goodness, and Mistress of a greater fame than fortune, but—­