Mon. Ah dear, I'm in such an emotion, I dare not be seen; put me in this closet for a moment.
Flip. Closet, man! it's too little, your love wou'd stifle you. Go air yourself in the garden a little, you have need on't, i'faith.
[She puts him out.
Flippanta sola.
A rare adventure, by my troth. This will be curious news to the wives. Fortune has now put their husbands into their hands, and I think they are too sharp to neglect its favours.
Enter Gripe.
Gripe. O, here's the right hand; the rest of the body can't be far off. Where's my wife, huswife?
Flip. An admirable question!—--Why, she's gone abroad, Sir.
Gripe. Abroad, abroad, abroad already? Why, she uses to be stewing in her bed three hours after this time, as late as 'tis: What makes her gadding so soon?
Flip. Business, I suppose.