Pinch. [Aside.] So, there, 'tis out.—[Aloud.] Come, I cannot, nor will stay any longer.
Horn. Nay, they shall send your lady a kiss too. Here, Harcourt, Dorilant, will you not? [They kiss her.
Pinch. [Aside.] How! do I suffer this? Was I not accusing another just now for this rascally patience, in permitting his wife to be kissed before his face? Ten thousand ulcers gnaw away their lips.—[Aloud.] Come, come.
Horn. Good night, dear little gentleman; madam, good night: farewell, Pinchwife.—[Apart to Harcourt and Dorilant.] Did not I tell you I would raise his jealous gall? [Exeunt Horner, Harcourt and Dorilant.
Pinch. So, they are gone at last; stay, let me see first if the coach be at this door. [Exit.
Re-enter Horner, Harcourt, and Dorilant.
Horn. What, not gone yet? Will you be sure to do as I desired you, sweet sir?
Mrs. Pinch. Sweet sir, but what will you give me then?
Horn. Anything. Come away into the next walk. [Exit, haling away Mrs. Pinchwife.
Alith. Hold! hold! what d'ye do?