Pinch. I'm sure when I left the town, he was the lewdest fellow in't.
Quack. I tell you, sir, he has been in France since; pray, ask but these ladies and gentlemen, your friend Mr. Dorilant. Gentlemen and ladies, han't you all heard the late sad report of poor Mr. Horner?
All the Ladies. Ay, ay, ay.
Dor. Why, thou jealous fool, dost thou doubt it? he's an arrant French capon.
Mrs. Pinch. 'Tis false, sir, you shall not disparage poor Mr. Horner, for to my certain knowledge—
Lucy. O, hold!
Mrs. Squeam. Stop her mouth! [Aside to Lucy.
L. Fid. Upon my honour, sir, 'tis as true—[To Pinchwife.
Mrs. Dain. D'ye think we would have been seen in his company?
Mrs. Squeam. Trust our unspotted reputations with him?