Enter a Footman.
Foot. The herbwoman swore she knew him to be the devil, for she had met him one dark night in St. Pulchre's church-yard; then the monster call'd a coach, methought with the voice of a christian; but a sailor that came by said he might be a crocodile for all that, for crocodiles could cry like children, and was for killing him outright, for they were good to eat in Egypt, but the constable cry'd take him alive, for what if he be an Egyptian, he is still the king's subject.
Ex. footman.
[A noise of mob within.
Enter Prue
Prue. Then he was hurry'd a way by the mob. A bull-dog ran away with fix joints of his tail, and the claw of his near foot before: At last by good fortune, to save his life, he fell in with the Hockley in the Hole bull and bear; the master claim'd him for his monster, and so he is now attended by a vast mob, very solemnly marching to Hockley in the Hole, with the bear in his front, the bull in his rear, and a monkey upon each shoulder.
Town. Mr. Mummy, you had best draw the curtains of your chair, or the mob's respect for the dead will scarce protect you.
[Exit Plotwell in a chair.
Clink. My concern for him obliges me to go see that he gets off safe, lest any further mischief befalls the persons of our masque.
[Exit Clinket.
Fos. Sweetly, Horace. Nunquam satis, and so forth. A man can never be too cautious. Madam, sit down by me. Pray how long is it since you and I have been married?
Town. Near three hours, Sir.
Fos. And what anxieties has this time produc'd? the dangers of divorce! calumniatory letters! lewd fellows introduc'd by my niece! groundless jealousies on both sides! even thy virginity put to the touch-stone! but this last danger I plung'd thee in myself; to leave thee in the room with two such robust young fellows.
Town. Ay, with two young fellows! but my dear, I know you did it ignorantly.