VAIN. In castles i' th' air of thy own building. That's thy
element, Ned. Well, as high a flier as you are, I have a lure may
make you stoop. [Flings a Letter.]

BELL. I, marry, sir, I have a hawk's eye at a woman's hand.
There's more elegancy in the false spelling of this superscription
[takes up the Letter] than in all Cicero. Let me see.--How now!--
Dear PERFIDIOUS VAINLOVE. [Reads.]

VAIN. Hold, hold, 'slife, that's the wrong.

BELL. Nay, let's see the name--Sylvia!--how canst thou be
ungrateful to that creature? She's extremely pretty, and loves
thee entirely--I have heard her breathe such raptures about thee -

VAIN. Ay, or anybody that she's about -

BELL. No, faith, Frank, you wrong her; she has been just to you.

VAIN. That's pleasant, by my troth, from thee, who hast had her.

BELL. Never--her affections. 'Tis true, by heaven: she owned it
to my face; and, blushing like the virgin morn when it disclosed
the cheat which that trusty bawd of nature, night, had hid,
confessed her soul was true to you; though I by treachery had
stolen the bliss.

VAIN. So was true as turtle--in imagination--Ned, ha? Preach this
doctrine to husbands, and the married women will adore thee.