_Fran_. Come, you think to fobb me off with your jests, as you do my husband; but it won't be: yonder he comes, and company with him. Husband, husband! why, William, I say! _Enter BIBBER, BURR, and FAILER, at the other end_. _Lov_. Speak softly, and I will satisfy thee. _Fran_. You shall not satisfy me, sir; pay me for what you owe me, for chamber-rent and diet, and many a good thing besides, that shall be nameless. _Lov_. What a stygian woman's this, to talk thus? Hold thy tongue 'till they be gone, or I'll cuckold thy husband. _Fran_. You cuckold him--would you durst cuckold him! I will not hold my tongue, sir. _Bib_. Yonder's my guest; what say you, gentlemen? Shall I call him to go down with us? _Lov_. I must make a loose from her, there's no other way. Save ye, Mr Failer; is your cousin Trice stirring yet? Answer me quickly, sir, is your cousin Trice yet stirring? _Fail_. I'll go and see, sir. Sure the man has a mind to beat me; but I vow to gad I have no mind to be beaten by him. 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. _Fran_. Well, you may be undone if you will, husband: I hear there are two or three actions already out against him: You may be the last, if you think good. _Bib_. Tis true she tells me; I love your wit well, sir; but I must cut my coat according to my cloth. _Fran_. Sir, we'll come by our own as we can; if you put us oft' from week to week thus. _Lov_. Nay, but good landlady-- _Fran_. Will good landlady set on the pot, as they say; or make the jack go? then I'll hear you. _Bib_. Now she's too much on t'other hand; hold your prating, Frances; or I'll put you out of your Pater Nosters, with a sorrow to you.