Sir _Cred._ Ah Lord! they are come with the Warrant. [Peeps out of the Basket. _Lod._ Only Books, Madam, offer’d me to buy, but they do not please me. L. _Kno._ Books! nay then set down the Basket, Fellows, and let me peruse ‘em; who are their Authors, and what their Language? Sir _Cred._ A pox of all Learning, I say,--’tis my Mother-in-law. [Porters going to set down the Basket. _Lod._ Hold, hold, Madam, they are only _English_ and some Law-_French_. L. _Kno._ Oh, faugh, how I hate that vile sort of Reading! up with ‘em again, Fellows, and away. [The Porters take up and go out. _Lod._ God-a-mercy, Law-_French_. [Aside. L. _Kno._ Law-_French_! out upon’t, I cou’d find in my heart to have the Porters bring it back, and have it burnt for a Heresy to Learning. _Lod._ Or thrown into the _Thames_, that it may float back to _Normandy_, to have the Language new modell’d. L. _Kno._ You say well; but what’s all this _ad Iphicli bonis_, where’s Sir _Credulous_ all this while? his Affairs expect him. _Lod._ So does _Leander_ your Ladyship within. L. _Kno._ _Leander!_ _Hymen, Hymenæ_, I’ll wait on him, _Lodwick_; I am resolv’d you shall marry _Isabella_ too; I have a design in my head that cannot fail to give you the possession of her within this two or three hours. _Lod._ Such an Indulgence will make me the happiest of Men, and I have something to say to your Ladyship that will oblige you to hasten the design. L. _Kno._ Come in, and let me know it. [Exeunt. SCENE II. _A Chamber in Sir _Patient Fancy’s_ House. A Table and Chairs._ Enter Lady _Fancy_ in a Morning-dress, _Maundy_ with Pen, Ink and Paper. L. _Fan._ _Wittmore_ in the Garden, sayst thou, with _Isabella_! Oh perjur’d Man! it was by his contrivance then I was betray’d last night. _Maun._ I thought so too at first, Madam, till going to conduct Mr. _Knowell_ through the Garden, he finding Mr. _Wittmore_ there with _Isabella_ drew on him, and they both fought out of the Garden: what mischief’s done I know not.--But, Madam, I hope Mr. _Knowell_ was not uncivil to your Ladyship. I had no time to ask what pass’d between you. L. _Fan._ Oh, name it not: I gave him all I had reserv’d for _Wittmore_. I was so possess’d with the thoughts of that dear false one, I had no sense free to perceive the cheat:--but I will be reveng’d.--Come let me end my Letter, we are safe from interruption. _Maun._ Yes, Madam, Sir _Patient_ is not yet up, the Doctors have been with him, and tell him he is not so bad as we persuaded him. L. _Fan._ And was he soft and kind?--By all that’s good, she loves him, and they contriv’d this meeting.--My Pen and Ink--I am impatient to unload my Soul of this great weight of Jealousy.-- [Sits down, and writes. Enter Sir _Patient_, looking over her Shoulder a tip-toe. _Maun._ Heaven! here’s Sir _Patient_, Madam. L. _Fan._ Hah,--and ‘tis too late to hide the Paper; I was just going to subscribe my Name.