Fie, fie! What a slavery have I undergone; spouse, hast thou
any cordial? I want spirits.
What a washy rogue art thou, to pant thus for a quarter of an
hour's lying and swearing to a fine lady?
Oh, she is the antidote to desire. Spouse, thou wilt fare
the worse for't. I shall have no appetite to iteration of nuptials-
-this eight-and-forty hours. By this hand I'd rather be a chairman
in the dog-days than act Sir Rowland till this time to-morrow.