Let. Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All—Alas! where are you?
Sir Feeb. Hum—no, no, this is not to me—I am jilted, cozen’d, cuckolded, and so forth.— [Groping, she takes hold of Sir Feeb.
Let. Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence—here, take these Jewels, and let us haste away.
Sir Feeb. Hum—are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a
Sham-Plot for this!—She cannot mean it to me. [Aside.
Let. Will you not speak?—will you not answer me?—do you repent already?—before Enjoyment are you cold and false?
Sir Feeb. Hum, before Enjoyment—that must be me. Before Injoyment— Ay, ay, ‘tis I—I see a little Prolonging a Woman’s Joy, sets an Edge upon her Appetite. [Merrily.
Let. What means my Dear? shall we not haste away?
Sir Feeb. Haste away! there ‘tis again—No—’tis not me she means: what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?—Yes, yes, I am destin’d a Cuckold—
Let. Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me?
Sir Feeb. Wife! adod, ‘tis I she means—’tis I she means—[Merrily.