Val. The widow is drunk too.

Wid. You out of this, which is a fine discretion, give out the matter’s done, you have won and wed me, and that you have put, fairly put for an heir too, these are fine rumours to advance my credit:  i’th’ name of mischief what did you mean?

Val. That you loved me, and that you might be brought to marrie me? why, what a Devil do you mean, widow?

Wid. ’Twas a fine trick too, to tell the world though you had enjoyed your first wish you wished, the wealth you aimed at, that I was poor, which is most true, I am, have sold my lands, because I love not those vexations, yet for mine honours sake, if you must be prating, and for my credits sake in the Town.

Val. I tell thee widow, I like thee ten times better, now thou hast no Lands, for now thy hopes and cares lye on thy husband, if e’re thou marryest more.

Wid. Have not you married me, and for this main cause, now as you report it, to be your Nurse?

Val. My Nurse? why, what am I grown to, give me the Glass, my Nurse.

Wid. You n’er said truer, I must confess I did a little favour you, and with some labour might have been perswaded, but when I found I must be hourly troubled, with making broths, and dawbing your decayes with swadling, and with stitching up your ruines, for the world so reports.

Val. Do not provoke me.

Wid. And half an eye may see.

Val. Do not provoke me, the world’s a lying world, and thou shalt find it, have a good heart, and take a strong faith to thee, and mark what follows, my Nurse, yes, you shall rock me:  Widow I’le keep you waking.

Wid. You are disposed Sir.

Val. Yes marry am I Widow, and you shall feel it, nay and they touch my freehold, I am a Tiger.

Wid. I think so.

Val. Come.

Wid. Whither?

Val. Any whither. [Sings.

  The fit’s upon me now, the fit’s upon me now,
  Come quickly gentle Ladie, the fit’s upon me now,
  The world shall know they’re fools,
  And so shalt thou do too,
  Let the Cobler meddle with his tools,
  The fit’s upon me now.

Take me quickly, while I am in this vein, away with me, for if I have but two hours to consider, all the widows in the world cannot recover me.

Wid. If you will, go with me Sir.

Val. Yes marrie will I, but ’tis in anger yet, and I will marrie thee, do not cross me; yes, and I will lie with thee, and get a whole bundle of babies, and I will kiss thee, stand still and kiss me handsomely, but do not provoke me, stir neither hand nor foot, for I am dangerous, I drunk sack yesternight, do not allure me:  Thou art no widow of this world, come in pitie, and in spite I’le marrie thee, not a word more, and I may be brought to love thee. [Exeunt.