_Scrub_. A guinea for her! faggot and fire for the witch! Sir, give me that guinea, and I 'll discover a plot. _Arch_. A plot! _Scrub_. Ay, sir, a plot, and a horrid plot! First, it must be a plot, because there's a woman in't: secondly, it must be a plot, because there's a priest in't: thirdly, it must be a plot, because there 's French gold in't: and fourthly, it must be a plot, because I don't know what to make on't. {393} _Arch_. Nor anybody else, I 'm afraid, brother Scrub. _Scrub_. Truly, I 'm afraid so too; for where there's a priest and a woman, there's always a mystery and a riddle. This I know, that here has been the doctor with a temptation in one hand and an absolution in the other, and Gipsy has sold herself to the devil; I saw the price paid down, my eyes shall take their oath on't. {401} _Arch_. And is all this bustle about Gipsy? _Scrub_. That's not all; I could hear but a word here and there; but I remember they mentioned a Count, a closet, a back-door, and a key. _Arch_. The Count!--Did you hear nothing of Mrs. Sullen? _Scrub_. I did hear some word that sounded that way; but whether it was Sullen or Dorinda, I could not distinguish. {409} _Arch_. You have told this matter to nobody, brother? _Scrub_. Told! no, sir, I thank you for that; I 'm resolved never to speak one word _pro_ nor _con_, till we have a peace. _Arch_. You're i' the right, brother Scrub. Here's a treaty afoot between the Count and the lady: the priest and the chambermaid are the plenipotentiaries. It shall go hard but I find a way to be included in the treaty.--Where 's the doctor now? _Scrub_. He and Gipsy are this moment devouring my lady's marmalade in the closet. {420} _Aim_. [_From without_.] Martin! Martin! _Arch_. I come, sir, I come. _Scrub_. But you forget the other guinea, brother Martin. _Arch_. Here, I give it with all my heart. _Scrub_. And I take it with all my soul.--[_Exit Archer_.] Ecod, I 'll spoil your plotting, Mrs. Gipsy! and if you should set the captain upon me, these two guineas will buy me off. [_Exit_. _Re-enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda, meeting_. _Mrs. Sul_. Well, sister! _Dor_. And well, sister! {430} _Mrs. Sul_. What's become of my lord? _Dor_. What's become of his servant? _Mrs. Sul_. Servant! he's a prettier fellow, and a finer gentleman by fifty degrees, than his master. _Dor_. O' my conscience, I fancy you could beg that fellow at the gallows-foot! _Mrs. Sul_. O' my conscience I could, provided I could put a friend of yours in his room. _Dor_. You desired me, sister, to leave you, when you transgressed the bounds of honour. {440} _Mrs. Sul_. Thou dear censorious country girl! what dost mean? You can't think of the man without the bedfellow, I find.