LIT. Sir!--Good Win go in, and if master Bartholomew Cokes, his man, come for the license, (the little old fellow,) let him speak with me. [_Exit Mrs. Littlewit._]--What say you, gentlemen? WINW. What call you the reverend elder you told me of, your Banbury man? LIT. Rabbi Busy, sir; he is more than an elder, he is a prophet, sir. QUAR. O, I know him! a baker, is he not? LIT. He was a baker, sir, but he does dream now, and see visions; he has given over his trade. QUAR. I remember that too; out of a scruple he took, that, in spiced conscience, those cakes he made, were served to bridals, may-poles, morrices, and such profane feasts and meetings. His christian-name is Zeal-of-the-land. LIT. Yes, sir; Zeal-of-the-land Busy. WINW. How! what a name's there! LIT. O they have all such names, sir; he was witness for Win here,--they will not be call'd godfathers--and named her Win-the-fight: you thought her name had been Winnifred, did you not? WINW. I did indeed. LIT. He would have thought himself a stark reprobate, if it had. QUAR. Ay, for there was a blue-starch woman of the name at the same time. A notable hypocritical vermin it is; I know him. One that stands upon his face, more than his faith, at all times: ever in seditious motion, and reproving for vainglory; of a most lunatic conscience and spleen, and affects the violence of singularity in all he does: he has undone a grocer here, in Newgate-market, that broke with him, trusted him with currants, as arrant a zeal as he, that's by the way:--By his profession he will ever be in the state of innocence though, and childhood; derides all antiquity, defies any other learning than inspiration; and what discretion soever years should afford him, it is all prevented in his original ignorance: have not to do with him, for he is a fellow of a most arrogant and invincible dulness, I assure you.--Who is this? _Re-enter MRS. LITTLEWIT with WASPE._ WASPE. By your leave, gentlemen, with all my heart to you; and God give you good morrow!--master Littlewit, my business is to you: is this license ready? LIT. Here I have it for you in my hand, master Humphrey. WASPE. That's well: nay, never open or read it to me, it's labour in vain, you know. I am no clerk, I scorn to be saved by my book, i'faith, I'll hang first; fold it up on your word, and give it me. What must you have for it? LIT. We'll talk of that anon, master Humphrey. WASPE. Now, or not at all, good master Proctor; I am for no anons, I assure you. LIT. Sweet Win, bid Solomon send me the little black-box within in my study. WASPE. Ay, quickly, good mistress, I pray you; for I have both eggs on the spit, and iron in the fire. [_Exit Mrs. Littlewit._]--Say what you must have, good master Littlewit. LIT. Why, you know the price, master Numps.