Volume Iii Part 36 (1/2)

[_Goes just to the door_, Fran. _bolts out on him_.

_Fran_. Who's there?--what wou'd you have?--who wou'd you speak to?--who do you come from?--and what's your business?

_Car_. Hah, 'tis the Sot himself;--my name is _Carlos_.

_Fran_. _Carlos_! what Father of _Belzebub_ sent him hither?--a plain case;--I'll murder her out of hand.

_Car_.--And I wou'd speak to any body, Friend, that belongs to the fair _Clara_,--if you are any of this house.

_Fran_. Only the Cuckold of the house, that's all;--my name, Sir, is _Francisco_; but you, perhaps, are better acquainted with my Wife.

_Car_. _Francisco_, let me embrace you, my n.o.ble Brother, and chide you, that you wou'd not visit me.

[_Going to embrace him, he flies off_.

_Fran_. And bring my Wife along with me.

_Car_. Both had been welcome--and all I have, you shou'd command.

_Fran_. For my Wife's sake--what if I shou'd pistol him now;--and I am d.a.m.nably provok'd to't, had I but Courage to shoot off one. [_Aside_.

_Car_. Methinks you make not so kind returns as my Friends.h.i.+p to you, and the Alliance shall be between us, deserves.

_Fran_. I am something ill-bred, I confess, Sir;--'tis dark, and if I shou'd do't no body wou'd know 'twas I. [_Aside_.

_Car_. I fear there's some Misunderstanding between us, pray let us go in a while, I'll talk you from your error.

[_Offers to go, he gets between him and the door_.

_Fran_. Between us, Sir! oh Lord, not in the least, Sir, I love and honour you so heartily--I'd be content to give you to the Devil, but the noise of the Pistol wou'd discover the business. [_Aside_.

_Car_. Come, let's in, and talk a while.

_Fran_. I'm sorry I cannot do't, Sir, we are something incommoded being not at our own house.

_Car_. Brother, I am afraid you are a little inclined to be jealous, that will destroy all Friends.h.i.+p.--

_Fran_. So, how finely the Devil begins to insinuate!

_Car_. That makes a h.e.l.l of the Heav'n of Love, and those very Pains you fear, are less tormenting than that Fear; what say you, Brother, is't not so with you?

_Fran_. I find you wou'd have me turn a Husband of the Mode, a fine convenient Tool, one of the modern Humour, a civil Person, that understands Reason, or so; and I doubt not but you wou'd be as modish a Gallant.

_Car_. Ha, ha, ha.

_Fran_. What, do you laugh, Sir?

_Car_. Who can chuse, to hear your Suspicions, your needless Fears.

Come, come, trust your Wife's Discretion, and Modesty--and I doubt not but you will find your self--