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.