'Know, cruel woman, I have discovered the secret of your marriage; you shall have all the plague of a jealous husband, without the pleasure of giving him cause. I have this morning counterfeited billetdoux and letters from bawds; nay, I have sent pimps; some of which, I hope, are fallen into your old coxcomb's hands. If you deny me the pleasure of tipping him a real cuckold, at least, I'll have the resentment to make him an imaginary one. Know that this is not the hundredth part of the revenge that shall be executed upon thee, by R. P.' _Town._ [_peeping._] So. The letter works as I would have it. [_Aside._ _Foss._ How true is that saying of the philosopher! 'We only know, that we know nothing.' The eruption of those horns which seem'd to make so strong a push is now suppress'd. Is the mystery of all these letters nothing but the revenge of a disappointed lover? The hand and seal are just the same with the Welchman's that I intercepted a while ago. Truly, these Welch are a hot revengeful people. My wife may be virtuous; she may not. Prevention is the safest method with diseases and intrigues. Women are wanton, husbands weak, bawds busy, opportunities dangerous, gallants eager; therefore it behoves honest men to be watchful. But here comes my Wife, I must hide myself; for should I be detected, she might have a just cause of complaint for my impertinent curiosity. _Exit Fossi._ Enter TOWNLEY; and to her SARSNET at the other door. _Sars._ Your orders, madam, have been executed to a tittle, and I hope with success. _Town._ Extremely well. Just as we could have wish'd. But I can't forgive that rascal Hugh. To turn him away would be dangerous. We will rather take the advantage of the confidence my husband has in him. Leave the husband to me, and do you discipline the footman. Such early curiosity must be crush'd in the bud. Hugh, Hugh, Hugh. [_calls aloud, and rings._] What is become of the rogue? [_Townley runs in, and drags out Fossile changing his cloaths with Hugh._ Why sirrah! must one call all day for you? [_cuffs him._ _Sars._ This is not Hugh, madam; a rouge in disguise, got in to rob the house! thieves, thieves! Enter CLINKET, PRUE with the writing-desk, and servants _Foss._ St. St--no noise. Prithee, dearee, look upon me. See, see, thy own dear husband. It is I. _Town._ What an unfortunate woman am I! Could not you pass one day without an intrigue? and with a cookwench too! for you could put on a livery for no other end. You wicked man. _Sars._ His coldness, madam, is now no longer a mystery. Filthy monster! wer't not thou provided with my mistress as a remedy for thy rampant unchastity? _Town._ Was all your indeffierence to me for this! you brute you. [_weeps._ _Foss._ Nay, prithee, dearee, judge not rashly. My character is establish'd in the world. There lives not a more sober, chaste, and virtuous person than doctor Fossile. _Town._ Then why this disguise?