Come away, Burr.
Will, you follow us.
_Bib_. I'll be with you immediately.
[_Exeunt BURR and FAILER_.
_Lov_. Who was that with Failer, Will?
_Bib_. A man at arms, that's come from Holland.
_Lov_. A man out at arms thou mean'st, Will.
_Bib_. Good, i'faith.
_Fran_. Aye, aye; you run questing up and down after your
gambols, and your jests, William; and never mind the main chance,
as they say: Pray get in your debts, and think upon your wife and
children.
_Lov_. Think upon the sack at Carey-house, with the Abricot
flavour, Will. Hang a wife; what is she, but a lawful kind of
manslayer? Every little hug in bed is a degree of murdering thee: and
for thy children, fear 'em not: thy part of 'em shall be taylors,
and they shall trust; and those, thy customers get for thee, shall
be gentlemen, and they shall be trusted by their brethren; and so thy
children shall live by one another.
_Bib_. Did you mark that, Frances? There was wit now; he call'd
me cuckold to my face, and yet for my heart I cannot be angry with
him. I perceive you love Frances, sir; and I love her the better for
your sake; speak truly, do you not like such a pretty brown kind of
woman?
_Lov_. I do i'faith, Will; your fair women have no substance in
'em, they shrink in the wetting.
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