Pinch. Does the letter want a comment? Then, know, sir, though I have been so civil a husband, as to bring you a letter from my wife, to let you kiss and court her to my face, I will not be a cuckold, sir, I will not.
Horn. Thou art mad with jealousy. I never saw thy wife in my life but at the play yesterday, and I know not if it were she or no. I court her, kiss her!
Pinch. I will not be a cuckold, I say; there will be danger in making me a cuckold.
Horn. Why, wert thou not well cured of thy last clap?
Pinch. I wear a sword.
Horn. It should be taken from thee, lest thou shouldst do thyself a mischief with it; thou art mad, man.
Pinch. As mad as I am, and as merry as you are, I must have more reason from you ere we part. I say again, though you kissed and courted last night my wife in man's clothes, as she confesses in her letter—
Horn. Ha! [Aside.
Pinch. Both she and I say, you must not design it again, for you have mistaken your woman, as you have done your man.
Horn. [Aside.] O—I understand something now—[Aloud.] Was that thy wife! Why wouldst thou not tell me 'twas she? Faith, my freedom with her was your fault, not mine.