Trick. How now, sir, are you rehearsing your lingua Franca by yourself, that you walk so pensively?

Wood. No faith, madam, I was thinking of the fair lady, who, at parting, bespoke so cunningly of me all my essences.

Trick. But there are other beauties in the house; and I should be impatient of a rival:  for I am apt to be partial to myself, and think I deserve to be preferred before them.

Wood. Your beauty will allow of no competition; and I am sure my love could make none.

Trick. Yes, you have seen Mrs Brainsick; she’s a beauty.

Wood. You mean, I suppose, the peaking creature, the married woman, with a sideling look, as if one cheek carried more bias than the other?

Trick. Yes, and with a high nose, as visible as a land-mark.

Wood. With one cheek blue, the other red; just like the covering of Lambeth Palace.

Trick. Nay, but her legs, if you could see them—­

Wood. She was so foolish to wear short petticoats, and show them.  They are pillars, gross enough to support a larger building; of the Tuscan order, by my troth.

Trick. And her little head, upon that long neck, shows like a traitor’s skull upon a pole.  Then, for her wit—­

Wood. She can have none:  There’s not room enough for a thought to play in.

Trick. I think indeed I may safely trust you with such charms; and you have pleased me with your description of her.

Wood. I wish you would give me leave to please you better.  But you transact as gravely with me as a Spaniard; and are losing love, as he does Flanders:  you consider and demur, when the monarch is up in arms, and at your gates[6].

Trick. But to yield upon the first summons, ere you have laid a formal siege—­To-morrow may prove a luckier day to you.

Wood. Believe me, madam, lovers are not to trust to-morrow.  Love may die upon our hands, or opportunity be wanting; ’tis best securing the present hour.

Trick. No, love’s like fruit; it must have time to ripen on the tree; if it be green gathered, ’twill but wither afterwards.

Wood. Rather ’tis like gun powder; that which fires quickest, is commonly the strongest.—­By this burning kiss—­

Trick. You lovers are such froward children, ever crying for the breast; and, when you have once had it, fall fast asleep in the nurse’s arms.  And with what face should I look upon my keeper after it?

Wood. With the same face that all mistresses look upon theirs.  Come, come.

Trick. But my reputation!

Wood. Nay, that’s no argument, if I should be so base to tell; for women get good fortunes now-a-days, by losing their credit, as a cunning citizen does by breaking.

Trick. But, I’m so shame-faced!  Well, I’ll go in, and hide my blushes. [Exit.