Is that such a secret? Sir LUKE. Be quiet; a damn'd honest fellow--but as to your wife-- SERJEANT. Well? Sir LUKE. She is an infamous strum-- SERJEANT. How! it is a falshood Sir Luke, my wife is as virtuous a wom-- Sir LUKE. Oh! if you are angry, your servant--I thought that the news would have pleas'd you--for after all, what is the business to me? What do I get by the bargain? SERJEANT. That's true; but then would it not vex any man to hear his wife abus'd in such a-- Sir LUKE. Not if it's true, you old fool. SERJEANT. I say it is false: prove it; give me that satisfaction Sir Luke. Sir LUKE. Oh! you shall have that pleasure directly; and to come at once to the point--you remember last New-year's day how severely it froze. SERJEANT. I do recollect. Sir LUKE. Very well; we are all invited to dine at Alderman Inkle's. SERJEANT. Very right. Sir LUKE. Well, and I did not go: Mrs. Circuit made me dine here, in this house--was it my fault? SERJEANT. No, no, Sir Luke, no. Sir LUKE. At table says she--she said, I was the picture of you--was it my fault? SERJEANT. Well, and suppose you are; where's the mischief in that? Sir LUKE. Be quiet, I tell you;--then throwing her arms round my neck,--it is my husband himself I embrace, it is my little old man that I kiss!--for she has a prodigious affection for you at bottom--was it my fault? SERJEANT. But what is there serious in this, dost think I mind such trifles? Sir LUKE. Hold your tongue, you fool, for a moment--then throwing her Teresa aside--upon my soul she is prodigious fine every where here--was it my fault? SERJEANT. My fault! my fault! I see no fault in all this. Sir LUKE. [_Hatching a cry._] No! why then my dear friend, do you know that I was so unworthy, so profligate, so abandon'd--as to--[_rises_] say no more, the business is done. SERJEANT. Ay, indeed! Sir LUKE. Oh! fact! there is not the least doubt of the matter; this is no _hear say_, dy'e see, I was by all the while. SERJEANT. Very pretty! very fine upon my word. Sir LUKE. Was it my fault? what could I do? put yourself in my place; I must have been more, or less, than man to resist. SERJEANT. Your fault, Sir Luke, no, no--you did but your duty--but as to my wife-- Sir LUKE. She's a diabolical fiend, I shall hate her as long as I live. SERJEANT. And I too. Sir LUKE. Only think of her forcing me, as it were with a sword at my breast, to play such a trick; you, my dear Serjeant, the best, truest friend I have in the world. [_Weeps._] SERJEANT. [_Weeping._] Dry your tears, dear Sir Luke; I shall ever gratefully acknowledge your confidence in trusting _me_ with the secret--[_taking him forward_.] But I think it might be as well kept from the rest of the world. Sir LUKE. My dear soul, do you think I would tell it to any mortal but _you_? No, no, not to my brother himself--You are the only man upon earth I wou'd trust. SERJEANT.