nniversary wedding-night.

MEL. That I have seen, with the ceremony thereunto belonging. For on
that night he creeps in at the bed's feet like a gulled bassa that has
married a relation of the Grand Signior, and that night he has his arms
at liberty. Did not she tell you at what a distance she keeps him? He
has confessed to me that, but at some certain times, that is, I suppose,
when she apprehends being with child, he never has the privilege of using
the familiarity of a husband with a wife. He was once given to
scrambling with his hands, and sprawling in his sleep, and ever since she
has him swaddled up in blankets, and his hands and feet swathed down, and
so put to bed; and there he lies with a great beard, like a Russian bear
upon a drift of snow. You are very great with him, I wonder he never
told you his grievances: he will, I warrant you.

CARE. Excessively foolish! But that which gives me most hopes of her is
her telling me of the many temptations she has resisted.

MEL. Nay, then you have her; for a woman's bragging to a man that she
has overcome temptations is an argument that they were weakly offered,
and a challenge to him to engage her more irresistibly. 'Tis only an
enhancing the price of the commodity, by telling you how many customers
have underbid her.

CARE. Nay, I don't despair. But still she has a grudging to you. I
talked to her t'other night at my Lord Froth's masquerade, when I'm
satisfied she knew me, and I had no reason to complain of my reception;
but I find women are not the same bare-faced and in masks, and a vizor
disguises their inclinations as much as their faces.

MEL. 'Tis a mistake, for women may most properly be said to be unmasked
when they wear vizors; for that secures them from blushing and being out
of countenance, and next to being in the dark, or alone, they are most
truly themselves in a vizor mask. Here they come: I'll leave you. Ply
her close, and by and by clap a _billet doux_ into her hand; for a woman
never thinks a man truly in love with her, till he has been fool enough
to think of her out of her sight, and to lose so much time as to write to
her.

SCENE VI.

CARELESS, SIR PAUL, _and_ LADY PLYANT.

SIR PAUL. Shan't we disturb your meditation, Mr. Careless? You would be
private?

CARE. You bring that along with you, Sir Paul, that shall be always
welcome to my privacy.

SIR PAUL. O sweet sir, you load your humble servants, both me and