MRS. MAR. I’ll follow you, madam,—before Sir Wilfull is ready.
SCENE XVIII.
Mrs. Marwood, Fainall.
FAIN. Why, then, Foible’s a bawd, an errant, rank match-making bawd. And I, it seems, am a husband, a rank husband, and my wife a very errant, rank wife,—all in the way of the world. ’Sdeath, to be a cuckold by anticipation, a cuckold in embryo! Sure I was born with budding antlers like a young satyr, or a citizen’s child, ’sdeath, to be out-witted, to be out-jilted, out-matrimonied. If I had kept my speed like a stag, ’twere somewhat, but to crawl after, with my horns like a snail, and be outstripped by my wife—’tis scurvy wedlock.
MRS. MAR. Then shake it off: you have often wished for an opportunity to part, and now you have it. But first prevent their plot:—the half of Millamant’s fortune is too considerable to be parted with to a foe, to Mirabell.
FAIN. Damn him, that had been mine—had you not made that fond discovery. That had been forfeited, had they been married. My wife had added lustre to my horns by that increase of fortune: I could have worn ’em tipt with gold, though my forehead had been furnished like a deputy-lieutenant’s hall.
MRS. MAR. They may prove a cap of maintenance to you still, if you can away with your wife. And she’s no worse than when you had her:—I dare swear she had given up her game before she was married.
FAIN. Hum! That may be—
MRS. MAR. You married her to keep you; and if you can contrive to have her keep you better than you expected, why should you not keep her longer than you intended?
FAIN. The means, the means?