T' have found thee otherwise employ'd. What, hunt  
A wife, on the dull soil! Sure a staunch husband  
Of all hounds is the dullest. Wilt thou never,  
Never, be wean'd from caudles and confections?  
What feminine tales hast thou been list'ning to,  
Of unair'd shirts, catarrhs, and tooth-ache, got  
By thin-sol'd shoes? Damnation! that a fellow,  
Chosen to be a sharer in the destruction  
Of a whole people, should sneak thus into corners  
To ease his fulsome lusts, and fool his mind.  
_Jaf._ May not a man then trifle out an hour  
With a kind woman, and not wrong his calling?  
_Pier._ Not in a cause like ours.  
_Jaf._ Then, friend, our cause  
Is in a damn'd condition: for I'll tell thee,  
That cankerworm, call'd lechery, has touch'd it;  
'Tis tainted vilely. Wouldst thou think it? Renault  
(That mortify'd, old, wither'd, winter rogue,)  
He visited her last night, like a kind guardian:  
Faith! she has some temptation, that's the truth on't.  
_Pier._ He durst not wrong his trust.  
_Jaf._ 'Twas something late, though,  
To take the freedom of a lady's chamber.  
_Pier._ Was she in bed?  
_Jaf._ Yes, faith, in virgin sheets,  
White as her bosom, Pierre, dish'd neatly up,  
Might tempt a weaker appetite to taste.  
Oh! how the old fox stunk, I warrant thee,  
When the rank fit was on him!  
_Pier._ Patience guide me!  
He us'd no violence?  
_Jaf._ No, no; out on't, violence!  
Play'd with her neck; brush'd her with his grey beard;  
But not a jot of violence.  
_Pier._ Damn him.  
_Jaf._ Ay, so say I: but hush, no more on't.  
All hitherto is well, and I believe  
Myself no monster yet. Sure it is near the hour  
We all should meet for our concluding orders:  
Will the ambassador be here in person?  

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