L. Des. By what strange Miracle, my dearest Freeman, wert thou set at liberty?
Free. On the zealous Parole of Rabbie Ananias; that Rhetorick that can convert whole Congregations of well-meaning Blockheads to errant Knaves, has now mollify’d my Keeper; I’m to be render’d back within this Hour: let’s not, my dear Maria, lose the precious minutes this Reverend Hypocrite has given us.
L. Des. Oh! you are very gay, have you forgot whose Prisoner you are, and that perhaps, e’er many Days are ended, they may hang you for High-Treason against the Commonwealth? they never want a good thorow-stitch’d Witness to do a Murder lawfully.
Free. No matter, then I shall die with Joy, Maria, when I consider, that you lov’d so well to give me the last Proof on’t.
L. Des. Are you in earnest, Freeman? and wou’d you take what Honour will not suffer me to grant?
Free. With all my Heart, Honour’s a poor Excuse. Your Heart and Vows (your better part) are mine; you’ve only lent your Body out to one whom you call Husband, and whom Heaven has mark’d for Cuckoldom. Nay, ’tis an Act of honest Loyalty, so to revenge our Cause; whilst you were only mine, my honest Love thought it a Sin to press these Favours from you; ’twas injuring my self as well as thee; but now we only give and take our Right.
L. Des. No more, my Husband’s old—
Free. Right, my dear Maria, and therefore—
L. Des. —May possibly die—
Free. He will be hang’d first.