CYNTHIA _and_ LORD TOUCHWOOD.
CYNT. Now, my lord?
LORD TOUCH. Astonishment binds up my rage! Villainy upon villainy!
Heavens, what a long track of dark deceit has this discovered! I am
confounded when I look back, and want a clue to guide me through the
various mazes of unheard-of treachery. My wife! Damnation! My hell!
CYNT. My lord, have patience, and be sensible how great our happiness
is, that this discovery was not made too late.
LORD TOUCH. I thank you, yet it may be still too late, if we don't
presently prevent the execution of their plots;--ha, I'll do't. Where's
Mellefont, my poor injured nephew? How shall I make him ample
satisfaction?
CYNT. I dare answer for him.
LORD TOUCH. I do him fresh wrong to question his forgiveness; for I know
him to be all goodness. Yet my wife! Damn her:--she'll think to meet
him in that dressing-room. Was't not so? And Maskwell will expect you
in the chaplain's chamber. For once, I'll add my plot too:--let us haste
to find out, and inform my nephew; and do you, quickly as you can, bring
all the company into this gallery. I'll expose the strumpet, and the
villain.