Mrs. Dain. Would you not have us assured of our gallants' love?
Mrs. Squeam. For love is better known by liberality than by jealousy.
L. Fid. For one may be dissembled, the other not.—[Aside.] But my jealousy can be no longer dissembled, and they are telling ripe.—[Aloud.]—Come, here's to our gallants in waiting, whom we must name, and I'll begin. This is my false rogue. [Claps him on the back.
Mrs. Squeam. How!
Horn. So, all will out now. [Aside.
Mrs. Squeam. Did you not tell me, 'twas for my sake only you reported yourself no man? [Aside to Horner.
Mrs. Dain. Oh, wretch! did you not swear to me, 'twas for my love and honour you passed for that thing you do? [Aside to Horner.
Horn. So, so.
L. Fid. Come, speak, ladies: this is my false villain.
Mrs. Squeam. And mine too.