Con. [Without.] Neighbour Wildrake!
Sir Wil. Hither they come. I fancy well thy game! O to be free to marry Widow Green! I'll call her hence anon--then ply him well.
[SIR WILLIAM goes out.]
Wild. [Without.] Nay, neighbour Constance!
True. He is high in storm.
[Enter WILDRAKE and CONSTANCE.]
Wild. To Lincolnshire, I tell thee.
Con. Lincolnshire! What, prithee, takes thee off to Lincolnshire?
Wild. Too great delight in thy fair company.
True. Nay, Master Wildrake, why away so soon? You are scarce a day in town!--Extremes like this, And starts of purpose, are the signs of love. Though immatured as yet. [Aside.]
Con. He's long enough In town! What should he here? He's lost in town: No man is he for concerts, balls, or routs! No game he knows at cards, save rare Pope Joan! He ne'er could master dance beyond a jig; And as for music, nothing to compare To the melodious yelping of a hound, Except the braying of his huntsma