+Jar.+ But, prythee, sir, is't for certain? for yet it cannot sink into my head that she is to be married to-morrow. +John.+ Troth, she makes little preparation; but it may be, she would be wedded, as she would be bedded, privately. +Jar.+ Bedded, call you it? and she be bedded no better than he'll bed her, she may lie tantalised, and eat wishes. +John.+ Pox on him! they say he's the arrantest miser: we shall never live a good day with him. +Jar.+ Well, and she be snipped by threescore and ten, may she live six score and eleven, and repent twelve times a day--that's once an hour. [_Exit._ _Enter +Widow+._ +Wid.+ Set meat o' th' board. +John.+ Yes. +Wid.+ Why does your fellow grumble so? +John.+ I do not know. They say you're to marry one that will feed us with horse-plums instead of beef and cabbage. +Wid.+ And are you grieved at that? +John.+ No, but my friends are. +Wid.+ What friends are grieved? +John.+ My guts. +Wid.+ So, it seems, you begun clown---- +John.+ Yes, and shall conclude coxcomb, and I be fed with herring-bones. 'Sfoot, I say no more; but if we do want as much bread of our daily allowance as would dine a sparrow, or as much drink as would fox a fly,[36] I know what I know. +Wid.+ And what do you know, sir? +John.+ Why, that there goes but a pair of shears[37] between a promoter and a knave; if you know more, take your choice of either. +Wid.+ 'Tis well; set on dinner. _Enter +Jarvis+ with a rabbit in one hand and a dish of eggs in another, and the +Maid+._ +Jar.+ O mistress, yonder's the mad gallant, Master Alexander Bloodhound, entered into the hall. +Wid.+ You should have kept him out. +Maid.+ Alas! ne'er a wench in town could do't, he's so nimble: I had no sooner opened the door, but he thrust in ere I was aware. _Enter +Alexander+._ +Alex.+ And how does my little, handsome, dainty, delicate, well-favoured, straight and comely, delicious, bewitching widow? +Jar.+ 'Sfoot, here's one runs division before the fiddlers. +Wid.+ Sir, this is no seasonable time of visit. +Alex.+ 'Tis pudding-time, wench, pudding-time; and a dainty time, dinner-time, my nimble-eyed, witty one. Woot be married to-morrow, sirrah? [_Sits to table._ +Jar.+ She'll be mad to-morrow, sirrah. +Alex.+ What, art thou a fortune-teller? +Jar.+ A chip of the same block--a fool, sir. +Alex.+ Good fool, give me a cup of cool beer. +Jar.+ Fill your master a cup of cool beer. +Alex.+ Pish! I spoke to the fool. +Jar.+ I thought you'd brought the fool with you, sir. +Alex.+ Fool, 'tis my man: shalt sit, i' faith, wench.