VAL. Husht—interrupt me not—I’ll whisper prediction to thee, and thou shalt prophesy. I am Truth, and can teach thy tongue a new trick. I have told thee what’s past,—now I’ll tell what’s to come. Dost thou know what will happen to-morrow?—Answer me not—for I will tell thee. To-morrow, knaves will thrive through craft, and fools through fortune, and honesty will go as it did, frost-nipt in a summer suit. Ask me questions concerning to-morrow. SCAN. Ask him, Mr. Foresight. FORE. Pray what will be done at court? VAL. Scandal will tell you. I am Truth; I never come there. FORE. In the city? VAL. Oh, prayers will be said in empty churches at the usual hours. Yet you will see such zealous faces behind counters, as if religion were to be sold in every shop. Oh, things will go methodically in the city: the clocks will strike twelve at noon, and the horned herd buzz in the exchange at two. Wives and husbands will drive distinct trades, and care and pleasure separately occupy the family. Coffee-houses will be full of smoke and stratagem. And the cropt prentice, that sweeps his master’s shop in the morning, may ten to one dirty his sheets before night. But there are two things that you will see very strange: which are wanton wives with their legs at liberty, and tame cuckolds with chains about their necks. But hold, I must examine you before I go further. You look suspiciously. Are you a husband? FORE. I am married. VAL. Poor creature! Is your wife of Covent Garden parish? FORE. No; St. Martin’s-in-the-Fields. VAL. Alas, poor man; his eyes are sunk, and his hands shrivelled; his legs dwindled, and his back bowed: pray, pray, for a metamorphosis. Change thy shape and shake off age; get thee Medea’s kettle and be boiled anew; come forth with lab’ring callous hands, a chine of steel, and Atlas shoulders. Let Taliacotius trim the calves of twenty chairmen, and make thee pedestals to stand erect upon, and look matrimony in the face. Ha, ha, ha! That a man should have a stomach to a wedding supper, when the pigeons ought rather to be laid to his feet, ha, ha, ha! FORE. His frenzy is very high now, Mr. Scandal. SCAN. I believe it is a spring tide. FORE. Very likely, truly. You understand these matters. Mr. Scandal, I shall be very glad to confer with you about these things which he has uttered. His sayings are very mysterious and hieroglyphical. VAL. Oh, why would Angelica be absent from my eyes so long? JERE. She’s here, sir. MRS. FORE. Now, sister. MRS. FRAIL. O Lord, what must I say? SCAN. Humour him, madam, by all means. VAL. Where is she? Oh, I see her—she comes, like riches, health, and liberty at once, to a despairing, starving, and abandoned wretch. Oh, welcome, welcome. MRS. FRAIL. How d’ye, sir? Can I serve you?