Start: Pinchwife: Come, tell me, I say.

Mrs. Pinchwife: Lord! han't I told it a hundred times over?

Pinchwife: [Aside.] I would try, if in the repetition of the ungrateful tale, I could find her altering it in the least circumstance; for if her story be false, she is so too.—[Aloud.] Come, how was't, baggage?

Mrs. Pinchwife: Lord, what pleasure you take to hear it sure!

Pinchwife: No, you take more in telling it I find; but speak, how was't?

Mrs. Pinchwife: He carried me up into the house next to the Exchange.

Pinchwife: So, and you two were only in the room!

Mrs. Pinchwife: Yes, for he sent away a youth that was there, for some dried fruit, and China oranges.

Pinchwife: Did he so? Damn him for it—and for—

Mrs. Pinchwife: But presently came up the gentlewoman of the house.

Pinchwife: O,