_Car_. I offer'd much, lov'd much, but all in vain; Husband and Honour still was the reply.
_Fran_. Good lack! that she shou'd have no more Grace before her Eyes.
_Car_. But, Slave, behold these Mutes; that fatal Instrument of Death behold too, and in 'em read thy doom, if this coy Wife of yours be not made flexible to my Addresses.
_Fran_. O Heavens! I make her.
_Car_. No more, thy Fate is fix'd--and, here attend, till he himself deliver his willing Wife into my Arms; _Bassa_, attend, and see it be perform'd-- [_To his Mutes, then to_ Guz.
[_Ex_. Car.
_Guz_. Go, one of you, and fetch the fair Slave hither.
[_Ex_. Turk.
_Fran_. I pimp for my own Wife! I hold the door to my own Flesh and Blood! _monstrum horrendum_!
_Guz_. Nay, do't, and do't handsomly too, not with a snivelling Countenance, as if you were compell'd to't; but with the face of Authority, and the awful command of a Husband--or thou dyest.
_Enter_ Turk _and_ Julia.
_Fran_. My dear _Julia_, you are a Fool, my Love.
_Jul_. For what, dear Husband?
_Fran_. I say, a silly Fool, to refuse the Love of so great a _Turk_; why, what a Pox makes you so coy? [_Angrily_.
_Jul_. How! this from you, _Francisco_.
_Fran_. Now does my Heart begin to fail me; and yet I shall ne'er endure strangling neither; why, am not I your Lord and Master, hah?
_Jul_. Heavens! Husband, what wou'd you have me do?
_Fran_. Have you do;--why, I wou'd have ye--d'ye see--'twill not out; why, I wou'd have ye lie with the _Sultan_, Huswife; I wonder how the Devil you have the face to refuse him, so handsom, so young a Lover; come, come, let me hear no more of your Coyness, Mistress, for if I do, I shall be hang'd; [_Aside_.
The Great _Turk's_ a most worthy Gentleman, and therefore I advise you to do as he advises you; and the Devil take ye both. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. This from my Husband, old _Francisco_! he advise me to part with my dear Honour.
_Fran_. Rather than part with his dear Life, I thank ye. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Have you considered the Virtue of a Wife?
_Fran_. No, but I have considered the Neck of a Husband. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Which Virtue, before I'll lose, I'll die a thousand Deaths.
_Fran_. So will not I one; a Pox of her Virtue,--these Women are always virtuous in a wrong place. [_Aside_.
I say you shall be kind to the sweet _Sultan_.
_Jul_. And rob my Husband of his right!
_Fran_. Shaw, Exchange is no Robbery.
_Jul_. And forsake my Virtue, and make nown Dear a Cuckold.
_Fran_. Shaw, most of the Heroes of the World were so;--go, prithee, Hony, go, do me the favour to cuckold me a little, if not for Love, for Charity.
_Jul_. Are you in earnest?
_Fran_. I am.
_Jul_. And would it not displease you?
_Fran_. I say, no; had it been _Aquinius_ his Case, to have sav'd the pinching of his Gullet he wou'd have been a Cuckold. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Fear has made you mad, or you're bewitcht; and I'll leave you to recover your Wits again. [_Going out_.
_Fran_. O gracious Wife, leave me not in despair; [_Kneels to her and holds her_.] I'm not mad, no, nor no more bewitcht than I have been these forty years; 'tis you're bewitcht to refuse so handsom, so young, and so--a Pox on him, she'll ne'er relish me again after him. [_Aside_.
_Jul_. Since you've lost your Honour with your wits, I'll try what mine will do.
_Enter_ Carlos, Turks.
_Fran_. Oh, I am lost, I'm lost--dear Wife,--most mighty Sir, I've brought her finely to't--do not make me lose my credit with his _Mahometan_ Grace,--my Wife has a monstrous Affection for your Honour, but she's something bashful; but when alone your Magnanimousness will find her a swinger.
_Car_. Fair Creature--
_Jul_. Do you believe my Husband, Sir? he's mad.
_Car_. Dog. [_Offers to kill him_.
_Fran_. Hold, mighty Emperor; as I hope to be saved, 'tis but a copy of her Countenance--inhuman Wife--lead her to your Apartment, Sir!
barbarous honest Woman,--to your Chamber, Sir,--wou'd I had married thee an errant Strumpet; nay, to your Royal Bed, Sir, I'll warrant you she gives you taunt for taunt: try her, Sir, try her. [_Puts 'em out_.
_Jac_. Hark you, Sir, are you possest, or is it real reformation in you?
what mov'd this kind fit?
_Fran_. E'en Love to sweet Life; and I shall think my self ever obliged to my dear Wife, for this kind Reprieve;--had she been cruel, I had been strangled, or hung in the Air like our Prophet's Tomb.
_Enter First_ Turk.
_Turk_. Sir, boast the honour of the News I bring you.
_Fran_. Oh, my Head! how my Brows twinge.
_Turk_. The mighty _Sultan_, to do you honour, has set your Daughter and her Lover free, ransomless;--and this day gives 'em liberty to solemnize the Nuptials in the Court;--but Christian Ceremonies must be private; but you're to be admitted, and I'll conduct you to 'em.
_Fran_. Some Comfort, I shall be Father to a Viscount, and for the rest--Patience--
_All Nations Cuckolds breed, but I deny They had such need of Cuckolding as I_.