_Alith._ Brother, you are my only censurer; and the honour of your family will sooner suffer in your wife there than in me, though I take the innocent liberty of the town. _Pinch._ Hark you, mistress, do not talk so before my wife.--The innocent liberty of the town! _Alith._ Why, pray, who boasts of any intrigue with me? what lampoon has made my name notorious? what ill women frequent my lodgings? I keep no company with any women of scandalous reputations. _Pinch._ No, you keep the men of scandalous reputations company. _Alith._ Where? would you not have me civil? answer 'em in a box at the plays, in the drawing-room at Whitehall, in St James'-park, Mulberry-garden, or-- _Pinch._ Hold, hold! Do not teach my wife where the men are to be found: I believe she's the worse for your town-documents already. I bid you keep her in ignorance, as I do. _Mrs. Pinch._ Indeed, be not angry with her, bud, she will tell me nothing of the town, though I ask her a thousand times a day. _Pinch._ Then you are very inquisitive to know, I find? _Mrs. Pinch._ Not I indeed, dear; I hate London. Our place-house in the country is worth a thousand of't: would I were there again! _Pinch._ So you shall, I warrant. But were you not talking of plays and players when I came in?--[_To_ ALITHEA.] You are her encourager in such discourses. _Mrs. Pinch._ No, indeed, dear; she chid me just now for liking the playermen. _Pinch._ [_Aside._] Nay, if she be so innocent as to own to me her liking them, there is no hurt in't.--[_Aloud._] Come, my poor rogue, but thou likest none better than me? _Mrs. Pinch._ Yes, indeed, but I do. The playermen are finer folks. _Pinch._ But you love none better than me? _Mrs. Pinch._ You are my own dear bud, and I know you. I hate a stranger. _Pinch._ Ay, my dear, you must love me only; and not be like the naughty town-women, who only hate their husbands, and love every man else; love plays, visits, fine coaches, fine clothes, fiddles, balls, treats, and so lead a wicked town-life. _Mrs. Pinch._ Nay, if to enjoy all these things be a town-life, London is not so bad a place, dear. _Pinch._ How! if you love me, you must hate London. _Alith._ The fool has forbid me discovering to her the pleasures of the town, and he is now setting her agog upon them himself. [_Aside._ _Mrs. Pinch._ But, husband, do the town-women love the playermen too? _Pinch._ Yes, I warrant you. _Mrs. Pinch._ Ay, I warrant you. _Pinch._ Why, you do not, I hope? _Mrs. Pinch._ No, no, bud. But why have we no playermen in the country? _Pinch._ Ha!--Mrs. Minx, ask me no more to go to a play. _Mrs. Pinch._ Nay, why, love? I did not care for going: but when you forbid me, you make me, as 'twere, desire it. _Alith._ So 'twill be in other things, I warrant. [_Aside._ _Mrs. Pinch._ Pray let me go to a play, dear. _Pinch._ Hold your peace, I wo' not. _Mrs. Pinch._ Why, love? _Pinch._ Why, I'll tell you.