_Horn._ Thy wedding! what stale maid has lived to despair of a husband, or what young one of a gallant? _Spark._ O, your servant, sir--this gentleman's sister then,--no stale maid. _Horn._ I'm sorry for't. _Pinch._ How comes he so concerned for her? [_Aside._ _Spark._ You sorry for't? why, do you know any ill by her? _Horn._ No, I know none but by thee; 'tis for her sake, not yours, and another man's sake that might have hoped, I thought. _Spark._ Another man! another man! what is his name? _Horn._ Nay, since 'tis past, he shall be nameless.--[_Aside._] Poor Harcourt! I am sorry thou hast missed her. _Pinch._ He seems to be much troubled at the match. [_Aside._ _Spark._ Prithee, tell me--Nay, you shan't go, brother. _Pinch._ I must of necessity, but I'll come to you to dinner. [_Exit._ _Spark._ But, Harry, what, have I a rival in my wife already? But with all my heart, for he may be of use to me hereafter; for though my hunger is now my sauce, and I can fall on heartily without, the time will come, when a rival will be as good sauce for a married man to a wife, as an orange to veal. _Horn._ O thou damned rogue! thou hast set my teeth on edge with thy orange. _Spark._ Then let's to dinner--there I was with you again. Come. _Horn._ But who dines with thee? _Spark._ My friends and relations, my brother Pinchwife, you see, of your acquaintance. _Horn._ And his wife? _Spark._ No, 'gad, he'll ne'er let her come amongst us good fellows; your stingy country coxcomb keeps his wife from his friends, as he does his little firkin of ale, for his own drinking, and a gentleman can't get a smack on't; but his servants, when his back is turned, broach it at their pleasures, and dust it away, ha! ha! ha!--'Gad, I am witty, I think, considering I was married to-day, by the world; but come-- _Horn._ No, I will not dine with you, unless you can fetch her too. _Spark._ Pshaw! what pleasure canst thou have with women now, Harry? _Horn._ My eyes are not gone; I love a good prospect yet, and will not dine with you unless she does too; go fetch her, therefore, but do not tell her husband 'tis for my sake. _Spark._ Well, I'll go try what I can do; in the meantime, come away to my aunt's lodging, 'tis in the way to Pinchwife's. _Horn._ The poor woman has called for aid, and stretched forth her hand, doctor; I cannot but help her over the pale out of the briars. [_Exeunt._ SCENE IV.--_A Room in_ PINCHWIFE'S _House._ Mrs. PINCHWIFE _alone, leaning on her elbow.--A table, pen, ink and paper._