Jul.  And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.

Fran.  Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;—­go, prithee, Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love, for Charity.

Jul.  Are you in earnest?

Fran.  I am.

Jul.  And would it not displease you?

Fran.  I say, no; had it been Aquinius his Case, to have sav’d the pinching of his Gullet he wou’d have been a Cuckold. [Aside.

Jul.  Fear has made you mad, or you’re bewitcht; and I’ll leave you to recover your Wits again. [Going out.

Fran.  O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [Kneels to her and holds her.] I’m not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been these forty years; ’tis you’re bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young, and so—­a Pox on him, she’ll ne’er relish me again after him. [Aside.

Jul.  Since you’ve lost your Honour with your wits, I’ll try what mine will do.

    Enter Carlos, Turks.

Fran.  Oh, I am lost, I’m lost—­dear Wife,—­most mighty Sir, I’ve brought her finely to’t—­do not make me lose my credit with his Mahometan Grace,—­my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour, but she’s something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will find her a swinger.

Car.  Fair Creature—­

Jul.  Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he’s mad.

Car.  Dog. [Offers to kill him.

Fran.  Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, ’tis but a copy of her Countenance—­inhuman Wife—­lead her to your Apartment, Sir! barbarous honest Woman,—­to your Chamber, Sir,—­wou’d I had married thee an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I’ll warrant you she gives you taunt for taunt:  try her, Sir, try her. [Puts ’em out.

Jac.  Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you? what mov’d this kind fit?

Fran.  E’en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;—­had she been cruel, I had been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet’s Tomb.

    Enter First Turk.

Turk.  Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.

Fran.  Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.

Turk.  The mighty Sultan, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and her Lover free, ransomless;—­and this day gives ’em liberty to solemnize the Nuptials in the Court;—­but Christian Ceremonies must be private; but you’re to be admitted, and I’ll conduct you to ’em.

Fran.  Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the rest—­Patience—­

All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny
They had such need of Cuckolding as I.

[Goes out with the Turk.