Fran. The Governor! the worst Great Turk of all; so, I am cozened, —most rarely cheated; why, what a horrid Plot’s here carried on, to bring in heretical Cuckoldom?
Car. Well, Sir, since you have found it out, I’ll own my Passion.
Jul. Well, if I have been kind you forced me to’t, nay, begged on your knees, to give my self away.
Fran. Guilty, guilty, I confess,—but ‘twas to the Great Turk, Mistress, not Don Carlos.
Jul. And was the Sin the greater?
Fran. No, but the Honour was less.
Bal. Oh horrid! What, intreat his Wife to be a Whore?
Car. Sir, you’re mistaken, she was my Wife in sight of Heaven before; and I but seiz’d my own.
Fran. Oh,—Sir, she’s at your Service still.
Car. I thank you, Sir, and take her as my own.