Lord _Town._ Death, Madam! do you presume upon your corporal merit! that your person's less tainted, than your mind! is it there! there alone an honest husband can be injur'd? Have you not every other vice that can debase your birth, or stain the heart of woman? Is not your health, your beauty, husband, fortune, family disclaim'd, for nights consumed in riot and extravagance? The wanton does no more; if she conceals her shame, does less: And sure the dissolute avow'd, as sorely wrongs my honour, and my quiet. Lady _Town._ I see, my Lord, what sort of wife might please you. Lord _Town._ Ungrateful woman! could you have seen yourself, you in yourself had seen her----I am amaz'd our legislature has left no precedent of a divorce for this more visible injury, this adultery of the mind, as well as that of the person! when a woman's whole heart is alienated to pleasures I have no share in, what is't to me whether a black ace, or a powder'd coxcomb has possession of it? Lady _Town._ If you have not found it yet, my lord, this is not the way to get possession of mine, depend upon it. Lord _Town._ That, Madam, I have long despair'd of; and since our happiness cannot be mutual, 'tis fit, that with our hearts, our persons too should separate.----This house you sleep no more in! tho' your content might grosly feed upon the dishonour of a husband, yet my desires would starve upon the features of a wife. Lady _Town._ Your stile, my lord, is much of the same delicacy with your sentiments of honour. Lord _Town._ Madam, Madam! this is no time for compliments----I have done with you. Lady _Town._ If we had never met, my Lord, I had not broke my heart for it! but have a care I may not, perhaps, be so easily recall'd as you imagine. Lord _Town._ Recall'd--Who's there! _Enter a Servant._ Desire my sister and Mr. _Manly_ to walk up. Lady _Town._ My Lord, you may proceed as you please, but pray what indiscretions have I committed, that are not daily practis'd by a hundred other women of quality? Lord _Town._ 'Tis not the number of ill wives, Madam, that makes the patience of a husband less contemptible: and though a bad one may be the best man's lot, yet he'll make a better figure in the world, that keeps his misfortunes out of doors, than he that tamely keeps her within. Lady _Town._ I don't know what figure you may make, my Lord, but I shall have no reason to be asham'd of mine in whatever company I may meet you. Lord _Town._ Be sparing of your spirit, Madam, you'll need it to support you. _Enter Lady ~Grace~ and ~Manly~._ Mr. _Manly_, I have an act of friendship to beg of you, which wants more apologies, than words can make for it. _Man._ Then pray make none, my Lord, that I may have the greater merit in obliging you. Lord _Town._ Sister, I have the same excuse to intreat of you too. Lady _Grace._ To your request, I beg, my Lord.