Lætitia, Fondlewife.

LÆT.  Oh! won’t you follow, and see him out of doors, my dear?

FOND.  I’ll shut this door to secure him from coming back—Give me the key of your cabinet, Cocky.  Ravish my wife before my face?  I warrant he’s a Papist in his heart at least, if not a Frenchman.

LÆT.  What can I do now!  (Aside.)  Oh! my dear, I have been in such a fright, that I forgot to tell you, poor Mr. Spintext has a sad fit of the colic, and is forced to lie down upon our bed—you’ll disturb him; I can tread softlier.

FOND.  Alack, poor man—no, no—you don’t know the papers—I won’t disturb him; give me the key.  [She gives him the key, goes to the chamber door and speaks aloud.]

LÆT.  ’Tis nobody but Mr. Fondlewife, Mr. Spintext, lie still on your stomach; lying on your stomach will ease you of the colic.

FOND.  Ay, ay, lie still, lie still; don’t let me disturb you.