TRAP. Fie, Mr Scandal, you never knew -
SCAN. What don't I know? I know the buxom black widow in the
Poultry. 800 pounds a year jointure, and 20,000 pounds in money.
Aha! old Trap.
VAL. Say you so, i'faith? Come, we'll remember the widow. I know
whereabouts you are; come, to the widow -
TRAP. No more, indeed.
VAL. What, the widow's health; give it him--off with it. [They
drink.] A lovely girl, i'faith, black sparkling eyes, soft pouting
ruby lips! Better sealing there than a bond for a million, ha?
TRAP. No, no, there's no such thing; we'd better mind our business.
You're a wag.
VAL. No, faith, we'll mind the widow's business: fill again.
Pretty round heaving breasts, a Barbary shape, and a jut with her
bum would stir an anchoret: and the prettiest foot! Oh, if a man
could but fasten his eyes to her feet as they steal in and out, and
play at bo-peep under her petticoats, ah! Mr Trapland?
TRAP. Verily, give me a glass. You're a wag,--and here's to the
widow. [Drinks.]
SCAN. He begins to chuckle; ply him close, or he'll relapse into a
dun.
SCENE VI.
[To them] OFFICER.
OFF. By your leave, gentlemen: Mr Trapland, if we must do our
office, tell us. We have half a dozen gentlemen to arrest in Pall
Mall and Covent Garden; and if we don't make haste the chairmen will
be abroad, and block up the chocolate-houses, and then our labour's
lost.
TRAP. Udso that's true: Mr Valentine, I love mirth, but business
must be done.
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