Horn. I do believe thee, faith.
Pinch And believe her too, for she’s an innocent creature, has no dissembling in her: and so fare you well, sir.
Horn. Pray, however, present my humble service to her, and tell her, I will obey her letter to a tittle, and fulfil her desires, be what they will, or with what difficulty soever I do’t; and you shall be no more jealous of me, I warrant her, and you.
Pinch. Well then, fare you well; and play with any man’s honour but mine, kiss any man’s wife but mine, and welcome.
[Exit.
Horn. Ha! ha! ha! doctor.
Quack. It seems, he has not heard the report of you, or does not believe it.
Horn. Ha! ha!—now, doctor, what think you?
Quack. Pray let’s see the letter—hum—“for—dear—love you—”
[Reads the letter
Horn. I wonder how she could contrive it! What say’st thou to’t? ’tis an original.
Quack. So are your cuckolds too originals: for they are like no other common cuckolds, and I will henceforth believe it not impossible for you to cuckold the Grand Signior amidst his guards of eunuchs, that I say.
Horn. And I say for the letter, ’tis the first love-letter that ever was without flames, darts, fates, destinies, lying and dissembling in’t.
Enter Sparkish pulling in Pinchwife.
Spark. Come back, you are a pretty brother-in-law, neither go to church nor to dinner with your sister bride!
Pinch. My sister denies her marriage, and you see is gone away from you dissatisfied.
Spark. Pshaw! upon a foolish scruple, that our parson was not in lawful orders, and did not say all the common-prayer; but ’tis her modesty only I believe. But let all women be never so modest the first day, they’ll be sure to come to themselves by night, and I shall have enough of her then. In the meantime, Harry Horner, you must dine with me: I keep my wedding at my aunt’s in the Piazza.
Horn. Thy wedding! what stale maid has lived to despair of a husband, or what young one of a gallant?
Spark. O, your servant, sir—this gentleman’s sister then,—no stale maid.
Horn. I’m sorry for’t.
Pinch. How comes he so concerned for her?
[Aside.
Spark. You sorry for’t? why, do you know any ill by her?