Mrs. Squeam. Come, sloven, I’ll lead you, to be sure of you.

[Pulls him by the cravat.

Lady Squeam. Alas, poor man, how she tugs him! Kiss, kiss her; that’s the way to make such nice women quiet.

Horn. No, madam, that remedy is worse than the torment; they know I dare suffer anything rather than do it.

Lady Squeam. Prithee kiss her, and I’ll give you her picture in little, that you admired so last night; prithee do.

Horn. Well, nothing but that could bribe me: I love a woman only in effigy, and good painting as much as I hate them.—I’ll do’t, for I could adore the devil well painted.

[Kisses Mrs. Squeamish.

Mrs. Squeam. Foh, you filthy toad! nay, now I’ve done jesting.

Lady Squeam. Ha! ha! ha! I told you so.

Mrs. Squeam. Foh! a kiss of his—

Sir Jasp. Has no more hurt in’t than one of my spaniel’s.

Mrs. Squeam. Nor no more good neither.

Quack. I will now believe anything he tells me.

[Aside,

Enter Pinchwife.

Lady Fid. O lord, here’s a man! Sir Jasper, my mask, my mask! I would not be seen here for the world.

Sir Jasp. What, not when I am with you?

Lady Fid. No, no, my honour—let’s be gone.

Mrs. Squeam. Oh grandmother, let’s be gone; make haste, make haste, I know not how he may censure us.

Lady Fid. Be found in the lodging of anything like a man!— Away.

[Exeunt Sir Jasper Fidget, Lady Fidget, Old Lady Squeamish, and Mrs. Squeamish.

Quack. What’s here? another cuckold? he looks like one, and none else sure have any business with him.

[Aside.

Horn. Well, what brings my dear friend hither?

Pinch. Your impertinency.