Nina. Yes, sir, your injured, your deserted wife!
Ant. And are you still alive? then I am once more happy! (Offers to embrace her.)
Nina. Forbear! When was I dead, you wretch?
Ant. Why, Nina, I've a letter from Toledo, that states that you are dead; you died a treble death, yourself and twins.
Ant. Twins, my love, sweet pledges of affection. I've the letter in my pocket; I've kept it there for months, pored over it for weeks, and cried over it for days. (Fumbles in his pocket.) Now I recollect it is in the pocket of my gala suit. What an infamous forgery! Come to my arms, my dear lamented, but now recovered wife!
Nina. Keep off,