FOND. Good man! I warrant he dropped it on purpose that you might take it up and read some of the pious ejaculations. [_Taking up the book_.] O bless me! O monstrous! A prayer-book? Ay, this is the devil’s paternoster. Hold, let me see: The Innocent Adultery. LÆT. Misfortune! now all’s ruined again. [_Aside_.] BELL. [_Peeping_]. Damned chance! If I had gone a-whoring with the Practice of Piety in my pocket I had never been discovered. FOND. Adultery, and innocent! O Lord! Here’s doctrine! Ay, here’s discipline! LÆT. Dear husband, I’m amazed. Sure it is a good book, and only tends to the speculation of sin. FOND. Speculation! No no; something went farther than speculation when I was not to be let in.—Where is this apocryphal elder? I’ll ferret him. LÆT. I’m so distracted, I can’t think of a lie. [_Aside_.] SCENE XXII. LÆTITIA _and_ FONDLEWIFE _haling out_ BELLMOUR. FOND. Come out here, thou Ananias incarnate. Who, how now! Who have we here? LÆT. Ha! [_Shrieks as surprised_.] FOND. Oh thou salacious woman! Am I then brutified? Ay, I feel it here; I sprout, I bud, I blossom, I am ripe-horn-mad. But who in the devil’s name are you? Mercy on me for swearing. But— LÆT. Oh! goodness keep us! Who are you? What are you? BELL. Soh! LÆT. In the name of the—O! Good, my dear, don’t come near it; I’m afraid ’tis the devil; indeed, it has hoofs, dear. FOND. Indeed, and I have horns, dear. The devil, no, I am afraid ’tis the flesh, thou harlot. Dear, with the pox. Come Syren, speak, confess, who is this reverend, brawny pastor. LÆT. Indeed, and indeed now, my dear Nykin, I never saw this wicked man before. FOND. Oh, it is a man then, it seems. LÆT. Rather, sure it is a wolf in the clothing of a sheep. FOND. Thou art a devil in his proper clothing—woman’s flesh. What, you know nothing of him, but his fleece here! You don’t love mutton? you Magdalen unconverted. BELL. Well, now, I know my cue.—That is, very honourably to excuse her, and very impudently accuse myself. [_Aside_.] LÆT. Why then, I wish I may never enter into the heaven of your embraces again, my dear, if ever I saw his face before. FOND. O Lord! O strange! I am in admiration of your impudence. Look at him a little better; he is more modest, I warrant you, than to deny it. Come, were you two never face to face before? Speak. BELL. Since all artifice is vain. And I think myself obliged to speak the truth in justice to your wife.—No. FOND. Humph. LÆT. No, indeed, dear. FOND. Nay, I find you are both in a story; that I must confess. But, what—not to be cured of the colic? Don’t you know your patient, Mrs. Quack? Oh, ‘lie upon your stomach; lying upon your stomach will cure you of the colic.’ Ah! answer me, Jezebel? LÆT. Let the wicked man answer for himself: does he think I have nothing to do but excuse him? ’tis enough if I can clear my own innocence to my own dear.