Mrs. Pinch. Yes, but she may sure, by such a one as he, for he’s a proper, goodly, strong man; ’tis hard, let me tell you, to resist him.

Pinch. [aside]. So, ’tis plain she loves him, yet she has not love enough to make her conceal it from me; but the sight of him will increase her aversion for me and love for him; and that love instruct her how to deceive me and satisfy him, all idiot as she is. Love! ’twas he gave women first their craft, their art of deluding. Out of Nature’s hands they came plain, open, silly, and fit for slaves, as she and Heaven intended ’em; but damned Love— well—I must strangle that little monster whilst I can deal with him.—[Aloud.] Go fetch pen, ink, and paper out of the next room.

Mrs. Pinch. Yes, bud.

[Exit.

Pinch. Why should women have more invention in love than men? It can only be, because they have more desires, more soliciting passions, more lust, and more of the devil.

Re-enter Mrs. PINCHWIFE. Come, minx, sit down and write.

Mrs. Pinch. Ay, dear bud, but I can’t do’t very well.

Pinch. I wish you could not at all.

Mrs. Pinch. But what should I write for?

Pinch. I’ll have you write a letter to your lover.

Mrs. Pinch. O Lord, to the fine gentleman a letter!

Pinch. Yes, to the fine gentleman.

Mrs. Pinch. Lord, you do but jeer: sure you jest.

Pinch. I am not so merry: come, write as I bid you.

Mrs. Pinch. What, do you think I am a fool?

Pinch. [aside]. She’s afraid I would not dictate any love to him, therefore she’s unwilling.—[Aloud.] But you had best begin.

Mrs. Pinch. Indeed, and indeed, but I won’t, so I won’t.

Pinch. Why?

Mrs. Pinch. Because he’s in town; you may send for him if you will.

Pinch. Very well, you would have him brought to you; is it come to this? I say, take the pen and write, or you’ll provoke me.

Mrs. Pinch. Lord, what d’ye make a fool of me for? Don’t I know that letters are never writ but from the country to London, and from London into the country? Now he’s in town, and I am in town too; therefore I can’t write to him, you know.

Pinch. [aside]. So, I am glad it is no worse; she is innocent enough yet.—[Aloud.] Yes, you may, when your husband bids you, write letters to people that are in town.

Mrs. Pinch. O, may I so? then I’m satisfied.