WINW. Why, he makes no love to her, does he? LIT. Not a tokenworth that ever I saw, I assure you: but-- WINW. What? LIT. He is the more mad-cap of the two. You do not apprehend me. MRS. LIT. You have a hot coal in your mouth, now, you cannot hold. LIT. Let me out with it, dear Win. MRS. LIT. I'll tell him myself. LIT. Do, and take all the thanks, and much good do thy pretty heart, Win. MRS. LIT. Sir, my mother has had her nativity-water cast lately by the cunning-men in Cow-lane, and they have told her her fortune, and do ensure her, she shall never have happy hour, unless she marry within this sen'night; and when it is, it must be a madman, they say. LIT. Ay, but it must be a gentleman madman. MRS. LIT. Yes, so the t'other man of Moorfields says. WINW. But does she believe them? LIT. Yes, and has been at Bedlam twice since every day, to inquire if any gentleman be there, or to come there mad. WINW. Why, this is a confederacy, a mere piece of practice upon her by these impostors. LIT. I tell her so; or else, say I, that they mean some young madcap gentleman; for the devil can equivocate as well as a shop keeper: and therefore would I advise you to be a little madder than master Quarlous hereafter. WINW. Where is she, stirring yet? LIT. Stirring! yes, and studying an old elder come from Banbury, a suitor that puts in here at meal tide, to praise the painful brethren, or pray that the sweet singers may be restored; says a grace as long as his breath lasts him! Some time the spirit is so strong with him, it gets quite out of him, and then my mother, or Win, are fain to fetch it again with malmsey or aqua coelestis. MRS. LIT. Yes, indeed, we have such a tedious life with him for his diet, and his clothes too! he breaks his buttons, and cracks seams at every saying he sobs out. LIT. He cannot abide my vocation, he says. MRS. LIT. No; he told my mother, a proctor was a claw of the beast, and that she had little less than committed abomination in marrying me so as she has done. LIT. Every line, he says, that a proctor writes, when it comes to be read in the bishop's court, is a long black hair, kemb'd out of the tail of Antichrist. WINW. When came this proselyte? LIT. Some three days since. _Enter QUARLOUS._ QUAR. O sir, have you ta'en soil here? It's well a man may reach you after three hours' running yet! What an unmerciful companion art thou, to quit thy lodging at such ungentlemanly hours! none but a scattered covey of fidlers, or one of these rag-rakers in dunghills, or some marrow-bone man at most, would have been up when thou wert gone abroad, by all description. I pray thee what ailest thou, thou canst not sleep? hast thou thorns in thy eye-lids, or thistles in thy bed? WINW. I cannot tell: it seems you had neither in your feet, that took this pain to find me.