, you've Tools for all uses; come, resolve,
or I'll discover your bloody Offer. Is your Stomach so queasy it cannot
digest Pimping, that can swallow Whoring, false Oaths, Sequestration,
Robbery, Rapes, and Murders daily?

_Ana._ Verily, you mistake my pious Meaning; it is the Malignant I stick
at; the Person, not the Office: and in sadness, Madam, it goeth against
my tender Conscience to do any good to one of the Wicked.

_L. Des._ It must stretch at this time; go haste to the Guard, and
demand him in my Husband's Name; here's something worth your Pains--
having releas'd him, bring him to me, you understand me-- go bid him be
diligent, and as you behave your self, find my Favour; for know, Sir,
I am as great a Hypocrite as you, and know the Cheats of your Religion
too; and since we know one another, 'tis like we shall be true.

_Ana._ But shou'd the Man be missing, and I call'd to account?--

_L. Des._ He shall be return'd in an hour: go, get you gone, and bring
him, or-- no more--
[Ex. _Ana._
For all degrees of Vices, you must grant,
There is no Rogue like your _Geneva_ Saint. [Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. _A Chamber in La. _Desbro's_ House. Candles, and Lights._

Enter L. _Desbro_ and _Freeman_.

_L. Des._ By what strange Miracle, my dearest _Freeman_, wert thou set
at liberty?

_Free._ On the zealous Parole of _Rabbie Ananias_; that Rhetorick that
can convert whole Congregations of well-meaning Blockheads to errant
Knaves, has now mollify'd my Keeper; I'm to be render'd back within this
Hour: let's not, my dear _Maria_, lose the precious minutes this
Reverend Hypocrite has given us.

_L. Des._ Oh! you are very gay, have you forgot whose Prisoner you are,
and that perhaps, e'er many Days are ended, they may hang you for
High-Treason against the Commonwealth? they never want a good
thorow-stitch'd Witness to do a Murder lawfully.

_Free._ No matter, then I shall die with Joy, _Maria_, when I consider,
that you lov'd so well to give me the last Proof on't.

_L. Des._ Are you in earnest, _Freeman_? and wou'd you take what Honour
will not suffer me to grant?

_Free._ With all my Heart, Honour's a poor Excuse. Your Heart and Vows
(your better part) are mine; you've only lent your Body out to one whom
you call Husband, and whom Heaven has mark'd for Cuckoldom. Nay, 'tis an
Act of honest Loyalty, so to revenge our Cause; whilst you were only
mine, my honest Love thought it a Sin to press