_Foss._ Your pulse is very high, madam. [_To Townley._] You sympathize, I perceive, for yours is somewhat feverish. [_To Plotwell._] But I believe I shall be able to put off the fit for this time. And as for you, niece, you have got the poetical itch, and are possess'd with nine devils, your nine muses; and thus I commit them and their works to the flames. [_Takes up a heap of papers and flings them into the fire._] _Clink._ Ah! I am an undone woman. _Plot._ Has he burnt any bank-bills, or a new Mechlin head-dress? _Clink._ My works! my works! 1st _Play._ Has he destroyed the writings of an estate, or your billet doux? _Clink._ A Pindarick ode! five similes! and half an epilogue! 2d _Play._ Has he thrown a new fan or your pearl necklace into the flames? _Clink._ Worse, worse! The tag of the acts of a new comedy! a prologue sent by a person of quality three copies of recommendatory verses! and two Greek mottos! _Foss._ Gentlemen, if you please to walk out. 2d _Play._ You shall have our positive answer concerning your tragedy, madam, in an hour or two. [_Exit Sir Tremendous, Plotwell and Players._ _Foss._ Though this affair looks but ill; yet I will not be over-rash: What says Lybanius? 'A false accusation often recoils upon the accuser;' and I have suffered already by too great precipitation. [_Exit Fossile._ Enter SARSNET. _Town._ A narrow escape, Sarsnet! Plotwells letter was intercepted and read by my husband. _Sars._ I tremble every joint of me. How came you off? _Town._ Invention flow'd, I ly'd, he believ'd. True wife, true husband! _Sars._ I have often warned you, madam, against this superfluity of gallants; you ought at least to have clear'd all mortgages upon your person before you leas'd it out for life. Then, besides Plotwell, you are every moment in danger of Underplot, who attends on Plotwell like his shadow; he is unlucky enough to stumble upon your husband, and then I'm sure his shatterbrains would undo us at once. _Town._ Thy wit and industry, Sarsnet, must help me out. To day is mine, to morrow is my husband's. _Sars._ But some speedy method must be thought of, to prevent your letters from falling into his hands. _Town._ I can put no confidence in my landlady Mrs. Chambers, since our quarrel at parting. So I have given orders to her maid to direct all letters and messages hither, and I have plac'd my own trusty servant Hugh at the door to receive them--but see, yonder comes my husband, I'll retire to my closet. [_Exit Townley and Sarsnet._ Enter FOSSILE.