Fos. Ay, 'tis plain she would lure me from the chest; there I shall find him.
[aside.
Town. The lace! the fringe!
Fos. All this is nothing to the embroider'd sattin. Prithee, my dear, give me the key.
Town. Sure never was any thing so prettily disposed. Observe but the air of it: So degagee! But the lining is so charming.
[She walks to the door, and Fossile to the trunk. Plotwell kisses her out of the top of the petticoat, and then goes off.]
[As Fossile is cautiously opening the trunk with his sword drawn, Townley comes up to him.]
What, more of your frolicks, Mr. Fossile. What time of the moon is this?
Fos. This Underplot is a confounded villain, he would make me jealous of an honest civil gentleman, only for an opportunity to cuckold me himself. [aside.] Come, my dear, forget all that is past. I know——I have proved thee virtuous. [But prithee, love, leave me a moment; I expect some Egyptian rarities].
[Exeunt severally.
