_Squire Sul_. What! court my wife to my face! _Mrs. Sul_. Pray, Mr. Sullen, put up; suspend your fury for a minute. {401} _Squire Sul_. To give you time to invent an excuse! _Mrs. Sul_. I need none. _Squire Sul_. No, for I heard every syllable of your discourse. _Count Bel_. Ah! and begar, I tink the dialogue was vera pretty. _Mrs. Sul_. Then I suppose, sir, you heard something of your own barbarity? _Squire Sul_. Barbarity! 'oons, what does the woman call barbarity? Do I ever meddle with you? {411} _Mrs. Sul_. No. _Squire Sul_. As for you, sir, I shall take another time. _Count Bel_. Ah, begar, and so must I. _Squire Sul_. Look'ee, madam, don't think that my anger proceeds from any concern I have for your honour, but for my own, and if you can contrive any way of being a whore without making me a cuckold, do it and welcome. {419} _Mrs. Sul_. Sir, I thank you kindly, you would allow me the sin but rob me of the pleasure. No, no, I 'm resolved never to venture upon the crime without the satisfaction of seeing you punished for't. _Squire Sul_. Then will you grant me this, my dear? Let anybody else do you the favour but that Frenchman, for I mortally hate his whole generation. [_Exit_. _Count Bel_. Ah, sir, that be ungrateful, for begar, I love some of yours.--Madam------ [_Approaching her_. _Mrs. Sul_. No, sir. {429} _Count Bel_. No, sir! garzoon, madam, I am not your husband. _Mrs. Sul_. 'Tis time to undeceive you, sir. I believed your addresses to me were no more than an amusement, and I hope you will think the same of my complaisance; and to convince you that you ought, you must know that I brought you hither only to make you instrumental in setting me right with my husband, for he was planted to listen by my appointment. _Count Bel_. By your appointment? {440} _Mrs. Sul_. Certainly. _Count Bel_. And so, madam, while I was telling twenty stories to part you from your husband, begar, I was bringing you together all the while? _Mrs. Sul_. I ask your pardon, sir, but I hope this will give you a taste of the virtue of the English ladies. _Count Bel_. Begar, madam, your virtue be vera great, but garzoon, your honeste be vera little. _Re-enter Dorinda_. _Mrs. Sul_. Nay, now, you 're angry, sir. {449} _Count Bel_. Angry!--_Fair Dorinda [Sings 'Fair Dorinda,' the opera tune, and addresses Dorinda._] Madam, when your ladyship want a fool, send for me. _Fair Dorinda, Revenge, etc, [Exit singing_. _Mrs. Sul_. There goes the true humour of his nation-- resentment with good manners, and the height of anger in a song! Well, sister, you must be judge, for you have heard the trial. _Dor_. And I bring in my brother guilty. _Mrs. Sul_. But I must bear the punishment. Tis hard, sister. {460} _Dor_. I own it; but you must have patience.