The Devil Is an Ass Act 2 Scene 3

Fitz-dotterel, Mistris Fitz-dotterel, Pug.

How now, sweet Heart? what's the matter.

Mrs. Fit.
Good!
You are a stranger to the Plot! you set not
Your sawcy Devil, here to tempt your Wife,
With all the insolent uncivil Language,
Or Action, he could vent?

Fit.
Did you so, Devil?

Mrs. Fit.
Not you? you were not planted i' your
Hole to hear him,
Upo' the Stairs? or here, behind the Hangings?
I do not know your Qualities? he durst do it,
And you not give Directions?

Fit.
You shall see Wife,
Whether he durst or no; and what it was I did direct.

[Her Husband goes out, and enters presently
with a Cudgel upon him.

Pug.
Sweet Mistris, are you mad?

Fit.
You most meer Rogue! you open manifest Villain!
You Fiend apparent you! you declar'd Helhound!

Pug.
Good Sir.

Fit.
Good Knave, good Rascal, and
good Traitor.
Now, I do find you parcel Devil indeed.
Upo' the Point of Trust? I' your first Charge?
The very day o' your Probation?
To tempt your Mistris? Yo do see, good Wedlock,
How I directed him.

Mrs. Fit.
Why, where Sir, were you?

Fit.
Nay, there is one blow more for Exercise:

[After a pause, he strikes him again.

I told you, I should do it.

Pug.
Would you had done, Sir.

Fit.
O Wife, the rarest man! yet there's another
To put you in mind o' the last, such a brave man, Wife!
Within, he has his Projects, and does vent 'em,

[and again.

The gallantest! where you tentiginous? ha?
Would you be acting of the Incubus?
Did her Silks rustling move you?

Pug.
Gentle Sir.

Fit.
Out of my sight. If thy Name were not Devil,
Thou should'st not stay a Minute with me. In,
Go, yet stay: yet go too. I am resolv'd
What I will do: and you shall know't afore-hand.
Soon as the Gentleman is gone, do you hear?
I'll help your lisping. Wife, such a Man Wife!

[Devil goes out.

He has such Plots! He will make me a Duke!
No less by Heaven! Six Mares to your Coach, VVife!
That's your Proportion! And your Coach-man bald,
Because he shall be bare enough. Do not you laugh,
VVe are a looking for a Place, and all i' the Map
VVhat to be of. Have faith, be not an Infidel.
You know I am not easie to be gull'd.
I swear, when I have my Millions, else I'll make
Another Dutchess; if you ha' not Faith.

Mrs. Fit.
You'll ha' too much, I fear, in these false Spirits,

Fit.
Spirits? O, no such thing! VVife! wit, meer wit!
This Man defies the Devil and all his VVorks!
He dos't by Ingine, and devises, he!
He has his winged Ploughs, that go with Sails,
VVill plough you Forty Acres, at once! and Mills
VVill spout you Water ten miles off! All Crowland
Is ours VVife; and the Fens, from us, in Norfolk,

To the utmost bounds of Lincoln-shire! we have view'd it,
And measur'd it within all; by the Scale!
The richest Tract of Land, Love, i' the Kingdom!
There will be made Seventeen or eighteen Millions;
Or more, as't may be handled! wherefore think,
Sweet heart, if th' hast a fancy to one Place
More than another, to be Dutchess of;
Now, name it: I will ha't what ere it cost,
(If't will be had for Money) either here,
Or'in France, or Italy.

Mrs. Fit.
You ha' strange Phantasies!