_Wid._ You are no Whoremasters? Alas, no, Gentlemen, it were an
impudence to think you vicious: you are so holy, handsome Ladies fright
you, you are the cool things of the time, the temperance, meer Emblems
of the Law, and veils of Vertue, you are not daily mending like Dutch
Watches, and plastering like old Walls; they are not Gentlemen, that
with their secret sins increase our Surgeons, and lie in Foraign
Countries, for new sores; Women are all these Vices; you are not
envious, false, covetous, vain-glorious, irreligious, drunken,
revengeful, giddie-eyed like Parrots, eaters of others honours.

_Val._ You are angry.

_Wid._ No by my troth, and yet I could say more too, for when men
make me angry, I am miserable.

_Val._ Sure 'tis a man, she could not bear it thus bravely else, it
may be I am tedious.

_Wid._ Not at all, Sir, I am content at this time you should
trouble me.

_Val._ You are distrustful.

_Wid._ Where I find no truth, Sir.

_Val._ Come, come, you are full of passion.

_Wid._ Some I have, I were too near the nature o' God else.

_Val._ You are monstrous peevish.