[To them] Fondlewife.

FOND.  Here are fifty pieces in this purse, Sir Joseph; if you will tarry a moment, till I fetch my papers, I’ll wait upon you down-stairs.

LÆT.  Ruined, past redemption! what shall I do—ha! this fool may be of use.  (Aside.)  [As Fondlewife is going into the chamber, she runs to Sir Joseph, almost pushes him down, and cries out.]  Stand off, rude ruffian.  Help me, my dear.  O bless me!  Why will you leave me alone with such a Satyr?

FOND.  Bless us!  What’s the matter?  What’s the matter?

LÆT.  Your back was no sooner turned, but like a lion he came open mouthed upon me, and would have ravished a kiss from me by main force.

SIR JO.  O Lord!  Oh, terrible!  Ha, ha, ha.  Is your wife mad, Alderman?

LÆT.  Oh!  I’m sick with the fright; won’t you take him out of my sight?

FOND.  O traitor!  I’m astonished.  O bloody-minded traitor!

SIR JO.  Hey-day!  Traitor yourself.  By the Lord Harry, I was in most danger of being ravished, if you go to that.

FOND.  Oh, how the blasphemous wretch swears!  Out of my house, thou son of the whore of Babylon; offspring of Bel and the Dragon.—Bless us! ravish my wife! my Dinah!  Oh, Shechemite!  Begone, I say.

SIR JO.  Why, the devil’s in the people, I think.