Lucy. You will marry him then?
Alith. Certainly, I have given him already my word, and will my hand too, to make it good, when he comes.
Lucy. Well, I wish I may never stick pin more, if he be not an arrant natural, to t'other fine gentleman.
Alith. I own he wants the wit of Harcourt, which I will dispense withal for another want he has, which is want of jealousy, which men of wit seldom want.
Lucy. Lord, madam, what should you do with a fool to your husband? You intend to be honest, don't you? then that husbandly virtue, credulity, is thrown away upon you.
Alith. He only that could suspect my virtue should have cause to do it; 'tis Sparkish's confidence in my truth that obliges me to be so faithful to him.
Lucy. You are not sure his opinion may last.
Alith. I am satisfied, 'tis impossible for him to be jealous after the proofs I have had of him. Jealousy in a husband—Heaven defend me from it! it begets a thousand plagues to a poor woman, the loss of her honour, her quiet, and her—
Lucy. And her pleasure.