Mrs. Pinch. Here—[aside.] No, I must not give him that: so I had been served if I had given him this.

[He opens and reads the first letter.

Pinch. Come, where’s the wax and seal?

Mrs. Pinch. [aside]. Lord, what shall I do now? Nay, then I have it—[aloud.] Pray let me see’t. Lord, you think me so arrant a fool, I cannot seal a letter; I will do’t, so I will. [Snatches the letter from him, changes it for the other, seals it, and delivers it to him.

Pinch. Nay, I believe you will learn that, and other things too, which I would not have you.

Mrs. Pinch. So, han’t I done it curiously?—[Aside.] I think I have; there’s my letter going to Mr. Horner, since he’ll needs have me send letters to folks.

Pinch. ’Tis very well; but I warrant, you would not have it go now?

Mrs. Pinch. Yes, indeed, but I would, bud, now.

Pinch. Well, you are a good girl then. Come, let me lock you up in your chamber, till I come back; and be sure you come not within three strides of the window when I am gone, for I have a spy in the street.—[Exit Mrs. PINCHWIFE, PINCHWIFE locks the door.] At least, ’tis fit she think so. If we do not cheat women, they’ll cheat us, and fraud may be justly used with secret enemies, of which a wife is the most dangerous; and he that has a handsome one to keep, and a frontier town, must provide against treachery, rather than open force. Now I have secured all within, I’ll deal with the foe without, with false intelligence.

[Holds up the letter. Exit.

SCENE III.—HORNER’S Lodging

Enter HORNER and Quack.

Quack. Well, sir, how fadges the new design? have you not the luck of all your brother projectors, to deceive only yourself at last?

Horn. No, good domine doctor, I deceive you, it seems, and others too; for the grave matrons, and old, rigid husbands think me as unfit for love, as they are; but their wives, sisters, and daughters know, some of ’em, better things already.

Quack. Already!

Horn. Already, I say. Last night I was drunk with half-a-dozen of your civil persons, as you call ’em, and people of honour, and so was made free of their society and dressing-rooms for ever hereafter; and am already come to the privileges of sleeping upon their pallets, warming smocks, tying shoes and garters, and the like, doctor, already, already, doctor.

Quack. You have made good use of your time, sir.

Horn. I tell thee, I am now no more interruption to ’em, when they sing, or talk bawdy, than a little squab French page who speaks no English.

Quack. But do civil persons and women of honour drink, and sing bawdy songs?

Horn. O, amongst friends, amongst friends. For your bigots in honour are just like those in religion; they fear the eye of the world more than the eye of Heaven; and think there is no virtue, but railing at vice,