es it.

_Dar._ 'Sdeath, Sir, there's room enough--at first sight so kind! Oh
Youth, Youth and Impudence, what Temptations are you to Villanous Woman?

_Chris._ I confess, Sir, we Women do not love these rough fighting
Fellows, they're always scaring us with one Broil or other.

_Dar._ Much good may it do you with your tame Coxcomb.

_Ran._ Well, Sir, then you yield the Prize?

_Dar._ Ay, Gad, were she an Angel, that can prefer such a callow Fop as
thou before a Man--take her and domineer.
[They all laugh.
--'Sdeath, am I grown ridiculous?

_Fear._ Why hast thou not found the Jest? by Heaven, 'tis _Ranter_, 'tis
she that loves you; carry on the humour.
[Aside.
Faith, Sir, if I were you, I wou'd devote my self to Madam _Ranter_.

_Chris._ Ay, she's the fittest Wife for you, she'll fit your Humour.

_Dar._ _Ranter_--Gad, I'd sooner marry a she-Bear, unless for a Penance
for some horrid Sin; we should be eternally challenging one another to
the Field, and ten to one she beats me there; or if I should escape
there, she wou'd kill me with drinking.

_Ran._ Here's a Rogue--does your Country abound with such Ladies?

_Dar._ The Lord forbid, half a dozen wou'd ruin the Land, debauch all
the Men, and scandalize all the Women.

_Fear._ No matter, she's rich.

_Dar._ Ay, that will make her insolent.

_Fear._ Nay, she's generous too.

_Dar._ Yes, when she's drunk, and then she'll lavish all.

_Ran._ A pox on him, how he vexes me.

_Dar._ Then such a Tongue--she'll rail and smoke till she choke again;
then six Gallons of Punch hardly recovers her, and never but then is she
good-natur'd.

_Ran._ I must lay him on--

_Dar._ There's not a Blockhead in the Country that has not--

_Ran._ What--

_Dar._ Been drunk with her.

_Ran._ I thought you had meant something else, Sir. [In huff.

_Dar._ Nay--as for that--I suppose there is no great difficulty.

_Ran._ 'Sdeath, Sir, you lye--and you are a Son of a Whore.
[Draws and fences with him, and he runs back round the Stage.

_Dar._ Hold--hold, Virago--dear Widow, hold, and give me thy hand.

_Ran._ Widow!

_Dar._ 'Sdeath, I knew thee by instinct, Widow, though I seemed not to
do so, in Revenge for the Trick you put on me in telling me a Lady dy'd
for me.

_Ran._ Why, such an one there is, perhaps she may dwindle forty or fifty
years--or so--but will never be her own Woman again, that's certain.

_Sure._ This we are all ready to testify,