Fain. Why then Foible’s a bawd, an errant, rank, match-making bawd. And I, it seems, am a husband, a rank-husband; and my wife a very errant, rank-wife,—all in the way of the world. ’Sdeath, to be a cuckold by anticipation, a cuckold in embrio? Sure I was born with budding antlers like a young satyr, or a citizen’s child. ’Sdeath, to be outwitted, to be out-jilted—out-matrimonied—If I had kept my speed like a stag, ’twere somewhat—but to crawl after, with my horns like a snail, and be outstripped by my wife—’tis scurvy wedlock.

Mrs. Mar. Then shake it off, you have often wished for an opportunity to part;—and now you have it. But first prevent their plot,—the half of Millamant’s fortune is too considerable to be parted with, to a foe, to Mirabell.

Fain. Dam him, that had been mine, had you not made that fond discovery—that had been forfeited, had they been married. My wife had added lustre to my horns, by that encrease of fortune, I could have worn ’em tipt with gold, though my forehead had been furnished like a deputy-lieutenant’s hall.

Mrs. Mar. They may prove a cap of maintenance to you still, if you can away with your wife. And she’s no worse than when you had her—I dare swear she had given up her game. before she was married.

Fain. Hum! That may be—

Mrs. Mar. You married her to keep you; and if you can contrive to have her keep you better than you expected, why should you not keep her longer than you intended?

Fain. The means, the means.

Mrs. Mar. Discover to my lady your wife’s conduct; threaton to part with her—my lady loves her, and will come to any composition to save her reputation. Take the opportunity of breaking it, just upon the discovery of this imposture. My lady will be enraged beyond bounds, and sacrifice niece, and fortune, and all at that conjuncture. And let me alone to keep her warm; if she should flag in her part, I will not fail to prompt her.

Fain. Faith, this has an appearance.

Mrs. Mar. I’m sorry I hinted to my lady to endeavour a match between Millamant and Sir Wilfull, that may be an obstacle.

Fain. O for that matter leave me to manage him; I’ll disable him for that, he will drink like a Dane: after dinner, I’ll set his hand in.

Mrs. Mar. Well, how do you stand affected towards your lady?

Fain. Why faith I’m thinking of it.—Let me see—I am married already; so that’s over—My wife has plaid the jade with me—well, that’s over too—I never loved her, or if I had, why that would have been over too by this time—Jealous of her I cannot be, for I am certain; so there’s an end of jealousie. Weary of her, I am and shall be—No, there’s no end of that; no, no, that were too much to hope. Thus far concerning my repose. Now for my reputation—As to my own, I married not for it; so that’s out of the question.—And as to my part in my wife’s—why she had parted with hers before; so bringing none to me, she can take none from me; ’tis against all rule of play, that I should lose to one who has not wherewithal to stake.

Mrs. Mar. Besides, you forget, marriage is honourable.

Fain. Hum! Faith and that’s well thought on; marriage is honourable, as you say; and if so, wherefore should cuckoldom be a discredit, being derived from so honourable a root?

Mrs. Mar. Nay, I know not; if the root be honourable, why not the branches?