Months that have divided us, thou wou'dst pity me.

L. _Fan._ --But to our Business; for though I am yet unsuspected by my
Husband, I am eternally plagu'd with his Company; he's so fond of me, he
scarce gives me time to write to thee, he waits on me from room to room,
hands me in the Garden, shoulders me in the Balcony, nay, does the
office of my Women, dresses and undresses me, and does so smirk at his
handywork: In fine, dear _Wittmore_, I am impatient till I can have less
of his Company, and more of thine.

_Wit._ Does he never go out of Town?

L. _Fan._ Never without me.

_Wit._ Nor to Chuch?

L. _Fan._ To a Meeting-house you mean, and then too carries me, and is
as vainly proud of me as of his rebellious Opinion, for his Religion
means nothing but that, and Contradiction; which I seem to like too,
since 'tis the best Cloke I can put on to cheat him with.

_Wit._ Right, my fair Hypocrite.

L. _Fan._ But, dear _Wittmore_, there's nothing so comical as to hear me
cant, and even cheat those Knaves, the Preachers themselves, that delude
the ignorant Rabble.

_Wit._ What Miracles cannot your Eyes and Tongue perform!

L. _Fan._ Judge what a fine Life I lead the while, to be set up with an
old formal doting sick Husband, and a Herd of snivelling grinning
Hypocrites, that call themselves the teaching Saints; who under pretence
of securing me to the number of their Flock, do so sneer upon me, pat my
Breasts, and cry fie, fie upon this fashion of tempting Nakedness.
[Through the Nose.

_Wit._ Dear Creature, how cou'd we laugh at thy new way of living, had
we but some Minutes allow'd us to enjoy that Pleasure alone.

L. _Fan._ Think, dear _Wittmore_, think, _Maundy_ and I have thought
over all our Devices to no purpose.

_Wit._ Pox on't, I'm the dullest dog at plotting, thinking, in the
world; I should have made a damnable ill Town Poet: Has he quite left
off going to the Change?

L. _Fan._ Oh, he's grown cautiously rich, and will venture none of his
substantial Stock in transitory Traffick.

_Wit._ Has he no mutinous Cabal, nor Coffee-houses, where he goes
religiously to consult the Welfare of the Nation?

L. _Fan._ His imagin'd Sickness has made this their Rendesvouz.

_Wit._ When he goes to his blind Devotion, cannot you pretend to be
sick? that may give us at least two or three opportunities to begin
with.

L. _Fan._ Oh! then I should be plagu'd with continual Physick and
Extempore Prayer till I