Car.  That makes a Hell of the Heav’n of Love, and those very Pains you fear, are less tormenting than that Fear; what say you, Brother, is’t not so with you?

Fran.  I find you wou’d have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine convenient Tool, one of the modern Humour, a civil Person, that understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou’d be as modish a Gallant.

Car.  Ha, ha, ha.

Fran.  What, do you laugh, Sir?

Car.  Who can chuse, to hear your Suspicions, your needless Fears.  Come, come, trust your Wife’s Discretion, and Modesty—­and I doubt not but you will find your self—­

Fran.  In the Road to Heaven, whither they say all Cuckolds go—­I thank you for your advice; I perceive you wou’d willingly help me onwards of my Journey.

Car.  I’m glad I know you, Sir,—­farewel to you—­
                                              [Goes out.

Fran.  No matter for that, so you know not my Wife—­and so farewel to you, Sir, and, the Devil take all Cuckoldmakers.

[Exit.

SCENE III. The inside of the House.

Enter Clara, Julia, Antonio, Jacinta running to ’em.

Jac.  He has seen Don Carlos, and they have been in great discourse together, I cou’d not hear one word, but you’ll have it at both ears anon, I’ll warrant you.  Ha, he’s coming.

    Enter Francisco.

Cla.  Heavens, he must not see you here. [To Ant.

Jac.  Here, step into Clara’s Bed-chamber. [He goes in.

Fran.  So the Plot’s at last discover’d,—­he was a Cavalier of his Parole.

Jul.  Who speak you of?

Fran.  Only the Governor, the fine young Governor, I deliver’d him the message, told him my mind and the like.

Jul.  So kind to visit us, and have you sent him away already?

Fran.  Ah, Witch; already! why, have I any lodging for him?

Jul.  But I am glad you brought him not in, I being so unready.

Fran.  But you are always ready for him, my dear victorious Man-slayer.

Jul.  What means he, sure he has a Gad-bee in his Brain.

Fran.  Satan’s she Advocate—­peace, I say;—­so, you look as innocently now, as a little Devil of two years old, I’ll warrant;—­come, come, look me full in the face—­thus,—­turn your nose just to mine—­so—­now tell me whose damnable Plot this was, to send your Gallant with his Eloquence, Querks and Conundrums, to tutor me into better manners?

Jul.  Send him!  I’ll answer no such idle questions.

Fran.  He has taken a world of pains about your particular Chapter, and no doubt but he preach’d according to instructions;—­what say you for your self, that Judgment may not pass?