Sir Jasp. Nay, I do believe you truly.—Pardon me, my virtuous lady, and dear of honour.

Lady Squeam. What, then all’s right again?

Sir Jasp. Ay, ay, and now let us satisfy him too.

[They whisper with Pinchwife.

Pinch. An eunuch! Pray, no fooling with me.

Quack. I’ll bring half the chirurgeons in town to swear it.

Pinch. They!—they’ll swear a man that bled to death through his wounds, died of an apoplexy.

Quack. Pray, hear me, sir—why, all the town has heard the report to him.

Pinch. But does all the town believe it?

Quack. Pray, inquire a little, and first of all these.

Pinch. I’m sure when I left the town, he was the lewdest fellow in’t.

Quack. I tell you, sir, he has been in France since; pray, ask but these ladies and gentlemen, your friend Mr. Dorilant. Gentlemen and ladies, han’t you all heard the late sad report of poor Mr. Horner?

All the Ladies. Ay, ay, ay.

Dor. Why, thou jealous fool, dost thou doubt it? he’s an arrant French capon.

Mrs. Pinch. ’Tis false, sir, you shall not disparage poor Mr. Horner, for to my certain knowledge—

Lucy. O, hold!

Mrs. Squeam. Stop her mouth!

[A side to Lucy.

Lady Fid. Upon my honour, sir, ’tis as true—

[To Pinchwife.

Mrs. Dain. D’ye think we would have been seen in his company?

Mrs. Squeam. Trust our unspotted reputations with him?

Lady Fid. This you get, and we too, by trusting your secret to a fool.

[A side to Horner.

Horn. Peace, madam.—[A side to Quack.] Well, doctor, is not this a good design, that carries man on unsuspected, and brings him off safe?

Pinch. Well, if this were true—but my wife—

[A side.

[Dorilant whispers with Mrs. Pinchwife.