[Goes to whisper him, and gives Julia the Letter over his Shoulder.
Fran. Is he so, pray tell him he need not take that pains; there’s no occasion for’t; besides ‘twill be but in vain; for the Doctors have prescribed her Silence and Loneliness, ‘tis good against the Fit; how this damn’d Fellow of a Rival torments me! honest Friend, adieu.
Guz. Now is this Fellow so afraid of being made a Cuckold that he fears his own Shadow, and dares not go into his Wife’s Chamber if the Sun do but shine into the room— [Ex. Guz.
Fran. So, your Mercury’s gone; Lord, how simply you look now, as if you knew nothing of the matter!
Jul. Matter! what matter? I heard the civil Message the Governor sent, and the uncivil Answer you return’d back.
Fran. Very good; did that grieve your heart? alas, what pity ‘twas I carried you not in my hand, presented you to him my self, and beg’d him to favour me so much to do my office a little for me, or the like; hah,—
Jul. And there’s need enough, and the truth were known.
Jac. Well said, Madam.
Fran. Peace, thou wicked Limb of Satan—but for you, Gentlewoman, since you are so tarmagant, that your own natural Husband cannot please you, who, though I say it, am as quiet a Bed-fellow, and sleep as sweetly, for one of my years, as any in Spain—I’ll keep you to hard meat, i’faith.
Jul. I find no fault with your sleeping, ‘tis the best quality you have a-bed.