TOM FASHION. Ay, faith, nurse, you may well be surprised at miss’s wanting to put it off so long. Tomorrow! no, no; ’tis now, this very hour, I would have the ceremony performed. MISS HOYDEN. Ecod, with all my heart. NURSE. O mercy! worse and worse! TOM FASHION. Yes, sweet nurse, now and privately; for all things being signed and sealed, why should Sir Tunbelly make us stay a week for a wedding-dinner? NURSE. But if you should be married now, what will you do when Sir Tunbelly calls for you to be married? MISS HOYDEN. Why then we will be married again. NURSE. What twice, my child? MISS HOYDEN. Ecod, I don’t care how often I’m married, not I. NURSE. Well, I’m such a tender-hearted fool, I find I can refuse you nothing. So you shall e’en follow your own inventions. MISS HOYDEN. Shall I? O Lord, I could leap over the moon! TOM FASHION. Dear nurse, this goodness of yours shall be still more rewarded. But now you must employ your power with the chaplain, that he may do this friendly office too, and then we shall be all happy. Do you think you can prevail with him? NURSE. Prevail with him! or he shall never prevail with me, I can tell him that. TOM FASHION. I’m glad to hear it; however, to strengthen your interest with him, you may let him know I have several fat livings in my gift, and that the first that falls shall be in your disposal. NURSE. Nay, then, I’ll make him marry more folks than one, I’ll promise him! MISS HOYDEN. Faith, do, nurse, make him marry you too; I’m sure he’ll do’t for a fat living. TOM FASHION. Well, nurse, while you go and settle matters with him, your lady and I will go and take a walk in the garden.—[_Exit_ NURSE.] Come, madam, dare you venture yourself alone with me? [_Takes_ MISS HOYDEN _by the hand.] Miss Hoyd._ Oh dear, yes, sir; I don’t think you’ll do anythink to me, I need be afraid on. [_Exeunt._] SCENE II.—AMANDA’s _Dressing-room._ _Enter_ AMANDA _followed by her_ MAID. _Maid._ If you please, madam, only to say whether you’ll have me buy them or not? AMANDA. Yes—no—Go, teaser; I care not what you do. Pr’ythee, leave me. [_Exit_ MAID.] _Enter_ BERINTHIA. BERINTHIA. What, in the name of Jove, is the matter with you? AMANDA. The matter, Berinthia! I’m almost mad; I’m plagued to death. BERINTHIA. Who is it that plagues you? AMANDA. Who do you think should plague a wife but her husband? BERINTHIA. O, ho! is it come to that?—We shall have you wish yourself a widow, by-and-by. AMANDA. Would I were anything but what I am! A base, ungrateful man, to use me thus! BERINTHIA. What, has he given you fresh reason to suspect his wandering? AMANDA. Every hour gives me reason. BERINTHIA. And yet, Amanda, you perhaps at this moment cause in another’s breast the same tormenting doubts and jealousies which you feel so sensibly yourself. AMANDA. Heaven knows I would not.