Trick. The devil’s in him; will he confess?

Wood. This paper was sent me from her this morning; and I was so fond of it, that I left it in my glove:  If one of the ladies had found it there, I should have been laughed at most unmercifully.

Mrs Brain. That’s well come off!

Limb. My heart was at my mouth, for fear it had been Pug’s. [Aside.]—­There ’tis again—­Hold, hold; pray let me see it once more:  a mistress, said you?

Aldo. Yes, a mistress, sir.  I’ll be his voucher, he has a mistress, and a fair one too.

Limb. Do you know it, father Aldo.

Aldo. Know it!  I know the match is as good as made already:  old Woodall and I are all one.  You, son, were sent for over on purpose; the articles for her jointure are all concluded, and a friend of mine drew them.

Limb. Nay, if father Aldo knows it, I am satisfied.

Aldo. But how came you by this letter, son Woodall? let me examine you.

Wood. Came by it! (pox, he has non-plus’d me!) How do you say I came by it, father Aldo?

Aldo. Why, there’s it, now.  This morning I met your mistress’s father, Mr you know who—­

Wood. Mr who, sir?

Aldo. Nay, you shall excuse me for that; but we are intimate:  his name begins with some vowel or consonant, no matter which:  Well, her father gave me this very numerical letter, subscribed, for Mr. Woodall.

Limb. Before George, and so it is.

Aldo. Carry me this letter, quoth he, to your son Woodall; ’tis from my daughter such a one, and then whispered me her name.

Wood. Let me see; I’ll read it once again.

Limb. What, are you not acquainted with the contents of it?

Wood. O, your true lover will read you over a letter from his mistress, a thousand times.

Trick. Ay, two thousand, if he be in the humour.

Wood. Two thousand! then it must be hers. [Reads to himself.] “Away to your chamber immediately, and I’ll give my fool the slip.”—­The fool! that may be either the keeper, or the husband; but commonly the keeper is the greater.  Humh! without subscription! it must be Tricksy.—­Father Aldo, pr’ythee rid me of this coxcomb.

Aldo. Come, son Limberham, we let our friend Brainsick walk too long alone:  Shall we follow him? we must make haste; for I expect a whole bevy of whores, a chamber-full of temptation this afternoon:  ’tis my day of audience.

Limb. Mr Woodall, we leave you here—­you remember?
                                           [Exeunt LIMB. and ALDO.

Wood. Let me alone.—­Ladies, your servant; I have a little private business with a friend of mine.

Mrs Brain. Meaning me.—­Well, sir, your servant.