_Coup._ I say when they, come, we must find what Stuff they are made of, whether the Churchman be chiefly compos'd of the Flesh, or the Spirit; I presume the former----For as Chaplains now go, 'tis probable he eats three Pound of Beef to the reading one Chapter----This gives him carnal Desires, he wants Money, Preferment, Wine, a Whore; therefore we must invite him to Supper, give him fat Capons, Sack and Sugar, a Purse of Gold, and a Plump Sister. Let this be done, and I'll warrant thee, my Boy, he speaks Truth like an Oracle. _Young Fash._ Thou art a profound Statesman, I allow it; but how shall we gain the Nurse? _Coup._ O never fear the Nurse, if once you have got the Priest, for the Devil always rides the Hag. Well, there's nothing more to be said of the Matter at this time, that I know of; so let us go and enquire, if there's any News of our People yet, perhaps they may be come. But let me tell you one thing by the way, Sirrah, I doubt you have been an idle Fellow; if thou hadst behav'd thyself as thou shoud'st have done, the Girl wou'd never have left thee. [_Exeunt._ +SCENE+, _~Berinthia~'s Apartment._ _Enter her ~Maid~, passing the Stage, follow'd by ~Worthy~._ _Wor._ Hem, Mrs. _Abigail_, is your Mistress to be spoken with? _Ab._ By you, Sir, I believe she may. _Wor._ Why 'tis by me I wou'd have her spoken with. _Ab._ I'll acquaint her, Sir. [_Exit ~Ab~._ _~Worthy~ solus._ One Lift more I must persuade her to give me, and then I'm mounted. Well, a young Bawd, and a handsome one for my Money, 'tis they do the Execution; I'll never go to an old one, but when I have occasion for a Witch. Lewdness looks heavenly to a Woman, when an Angel appears in its Cause; but when a Hag is Advocate, she thinks it comes from the Devil. An old Woman has something so terrible in her Looks, that whilst she is persuading your Mistress to forget she has a Soul, she stares Hell and Damnation full in her Face. _Enter ~Berinthia~._ _Ber._ Well, Sir, what News bring you? _Wor._ No News, Madam, there's a Woman going to cuckold her Husband. _Ber._ _Amanda_? _Wor._ I hope so. _Ber._ Speed her well. _Wor._ Ay, but there must be a more than a God-speed, or your Charity won't be worth a Farthing. _Ber._ Why, han't I done enough already? _Wor._ Not quite. _Ber._ What's the matter? _Wor._ The Lady has a Scruple still which you must remove. _Ber._ What's that? _Wor._ Her Virtue----she says. _Ber._ And do you believe her? _Wor._ No, but I believe it's what she takes for her Virtue; it's some Relicks of lawful Love: she is not yet fully satisfy'd her Husband has got another Mistress, which unless I can convince her of, I have opened the Trenches in vain; for the Breach must be wider, before I dare storm the Town. _Ber._ And so I'm to be your Engineer!