Sir Tim. No, but that thou should’st hide it all this while.
Bel. Till I was married only, and now I can dissemble it no longer— come—let’s to a Baudy-House.
Sir Tim. A Baudy-house! What, already!
This is the very quintessence of Leudness.
—Why, I thought that I was wicked, but, by Fortune,
This dashes mine quite out of Countenance.
Bel. Oh, thou’rt a puny Sinner!—I’ll teach thee Arts (so rare) of Sin, the least of them shall damn thee.
Sir Tim. By Fortune, Frank, I do not like these Arts.
Bel. Then thou’rt a Fool—I’ll teach thee to be rich too.
Sir Tim. Ay, that I like.
Bel. Look here, my Boys! [Hold up his Writings, which he takes out of his Pockets. The Writings of 3000 pounds a Year: —All this I got by Perjury.
Sir Tim. By Fortune, a thriving Sin.
Bel. And we will live in Sin while this holds out. And then to my cold Home—Come let’s be gone: Oh, that I ne’er might see the rising Sun.