_Pinch._ You'll make her welcome for my sake, I hope. _Horn._ I hope she is handsome enough to make herself welcome. Prithee let her unmask. _Pinch._ Do you speak to her; she would never be ruled by me. _Horn._ Madam--[Mrs. PINCHWIFE _whispers to_ HORNER.] She says she must speak with me in private. Withdraw, prithee. _Pinch._ [_Aside._] She's unwilling, it seems, I should know all her indecent conduct in this business--[_Aloud._] Well then, I'll leave you together, and hope when I am gone, you'll agree; if not, you and I shan't agree, sir. _Horn._ What means the fool? if she and I agree 'tis no matter what you and I do. [_Whispers to_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE, _who makes signs with her hand for him to be gone._ _Pinch._ In the mean time I'll fetch a parson, and find out Sparkish, and disabuse him. You would have me fetch a parson, would you not? Well then--now I think I am rid of her, and shall have no more trouble with her--our sisters and daughters, like usurers' money, are safest when put out; but our wives, like their writings, never safe, but in our closets under lock and key. [_Exit._ _Enter_ Boy. _Boy._ Sir Jasper Fidget, sir, is coming up. [_Exit._ _Horn._ Here's the trouble of a cuckold now we are talking of. A pox on him! has he not enough to do to hinder his wife's sport, but he must other women's too?--Step in here, madam. [_Exit_ Mrs. PINCHWIFE. _Enter_ Sir JASPER FIDGET. _Sir Jasp._ My best and dearest friend. _Horn._ [_Aside to_ Quack.] The old style, doctor.--[_Aloud._] Well, be short, for I am busy. What would your impertinent wife have now? _Sir Jasp._ Well guessed, i'faith; for I do come from her. _Horn._ To invite me to supper! Tell her, I can't come; go. _Sir Jasp._ Nay, now you are out, faith; for my lady, and the whole knot of the virtuous gang, as they call themselves, are resolved upon a frolic of coming to you to-night in masquerade, and are all dressed already. _Horn._ I shan't be at home. _Sir Jasp._ [_Aside._] Lord, how churlish he is to women!--[_Aloud._] Nay, prithee don't disappoint 'em; they'll think 'tis my fault: prithee don't. I'll send in the banquet and the fiddles. But make no noise on't; for the poor virtuous rogues would not have it known, for the world, that they go a-masquerading; and they would come to no man's ball but yours. _Horn._ Well, well--get you gone; and tell 'em, if they come, 'twill be at the peril of their honour and yours. _Sir Jasp._ He! he! he!--we'll trust you for that: farewell. [_Exit._ _Horn._ Doctor, anon you too shall be my guest, But now I'm going to a private feast. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III.--_The Piazza of Covent Garden._ _Enter_ SPARKISH _with a letter in his hand,_ PINCHWIFE _following._ _Spark._ But who would have thought a woman could have been false to me? By the world, I could not have thought it.