Detain him in my absence when he called,
And, without seeming, sound him touching me?

Lydia. Yes.

W. Green. And effects he me, or not? How guess you?
What said he of me? Looked he balked, or not,
To find me not at home? Inquired he when
I would be back, as much he longed to see me?
What did he--said he? Come!--Is he in love,
Or like to fall into it? Goes well my game,
Or shall I have my labour for my pains?

Lydia. I think he is in love.--O poor evasion!
O to love truth, and yet not dare to speak it! [Aside.]

W. Green. You think he is in love--I'm sure of it.
As well have asked you has he eyes and ears,
And brain and heart to use them? Maids do throw
Trick after trick away, but widows know
To play their cards! How am I looking, Lydia?

Lydia. E'en as you ever look.

W. Green. Handsome, my girl?
Eh? Clear in my complexion? Eh?--brimful
Of spirits? not too much of me, nor yet
Too little?--Eh?--A woman worth a man?
Look at me, Lydia! Would you credit, girl,
I was a scarecrow before marriage?