CYNT. My lord, have patience, and be sensible how great our happiness is, that this discovery was not made too late.
LORD TOUCH. I thank you, yet it may be still too late, if we don’t presently prevent the execution of their plots;—ha, I’ll do’t. Where’s Mellefont, my poor injured nephew? How shall I make him ample satisfaction?
CYNT. I dare answer for him.
LORD TOUCH. I do him fresh wrong to question his forgiveness; for I know him to be all goodness. Yet my wife! Damn her:—she’ll think to meet him in that dressing-room. Was’t not so? And Maskwell will expect you in the chaplain’s chamber. For once, I’ll add my plot too:—let us haste to find out, and inform my nephew; and do you, quickly as you can, bring all the company into this gallery. I’ll expose the strumpet, and the villain.
SCENE XX.
Lord Froth and Sir Paul.
LORD FROTH. By heavens, I have slept an age. Sir Paul, what o’clock is’t? Past eight, on my conscience; my lady’s is the most inviting couch, and a slumber there is the prettiest amusement! But where’s all the company?
SIR PAUL. The company, gads-bud, I don’t know, my lord, but here’s the strangest revolution, all turned topsy turvy; as I hope for providence.
LORD FROTH. O heavens, what’s the matter? Where’s my wife?
SIR PAUL. All turned topsy turvy as sure as a gun.