Chapter XIX: Act II: SCENE I. Gayman’s Lodging

_Enter _Gayman_ in a Night-Cap, and an old Campaign Coat
tied about him, very melancholy_.

_Gay_. Curse on my Birth! Curse on my faithless Fortune! Curse on my Stars, and curst be all--but Love! That dear, that charming Sin, though t’have pull’d Innumerable Mischiefs on my head, I have not, nor I cannot find Repentance for. Nor let me die despis’d, upbraided, poor: Let Fortune, Friends and all abandon me-- But let me hold thee, thou soft smiling God, Close to my heart while Life continues there. Till the last pantings of my vital Blood, Nay, the last spark of Life and Fire be Love’s!

_Enter_ Rag.

--How now, _Rag_, what’s a Clock?

_Rag_. My Belly can inform you better than my Tongue.

_Gay_. Why, you gormandizing Vermin you, what have you done with the Three pence I gave you a fortnight ago.

_Rag_. Alas, Sir, that’s all gone long since.

_Gay_. You gutling Rascal, you are enough to breed a Famine in a Land. I have known some industrious Footmen, that have not only gotten their own Livings, but a pretty Livelihood for their Masters too.

_Rag_. Ay, till they came to the Gallows, Sir.

_Gay_. Very well, Sirrah, they died in an honourable Calling--but hark ye, _Rag_,--I have business, very earnest business abroad this Evening; now were you a Rascal of Docity, you wou’d invent a way to get home my last Suit that was laid in Lavender--with the Appurtenances thereunto belonging, as Perriwig, Cravat, and so forth.

_Rag_. Faith, Master, I must deal in the black Art then, for no human means will do’t--and now I talk of the black Art, Master, try your Power once more with my Landlady.

_Gay_. Oh! name her not, the thought on’t turns my Stomach--a sight of her is a Vomit; but he’s a bold Hero that dares venture on her for a kiss, and all beyond that sure is Hell it self--yet there’s my last, last Refuge--and I must to this Wedding--I know not what,--but something whispers me,--this Night I shall be happy--and without _Julia_ ’.is impossible!

_Rag. Julia_, who’s that? my Lady _Fulbank_, Sir?

_Gay_. Peace, Sirrah--and call--a--no--Pox on’t, come back--and yet--yes--call my fulsome Landlady.

[_Exit_ Rag.

Sir _Cautious_ knows me not by Name or Person. And I will to this Wedding, I’m sure of seeing _Julia_ there. And what may come of that--but here’s old Nasty coming. I smell her up--hah, my dear Landlady.

_Enter _Rag_ and _Landlady.

Quite out of breath--a Chair there for my Landlady.

_Rag_. Here’s ne’er a one, Sir.

_Land_. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. _Wasteall_.

_Gay_. Dear Landlady--

_Land_. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money--Eight Weeks Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses’ Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.

_Gay_. Ay, but your Husband don’t; speak softly.

_Land_. My Husband! what, do you think to fright me with my Husband?-- I’d have you to know I’m an honest Woman, and care not this--for my Husband. Is this all the thanks I have for my kindness, for patching, borrowing and shifting for you; ‘twas but last Week I pawn’d my best Petticoat, as I hope to wear it again, it cost me six and twenty shillings besides Making; then this Morning my new _Norwich_ Mantua followed, and two postle Spoons, I had the whole dozen when you came first; but they dropt, and dropt, till I had only _Judas_ left for my Husband.

_Gay_. Hear me, good Landlady.

_Land_. Then I’ve past my word at the _George Tavern_, for forty Shillings for you, ten Shillings at my Neighbour _Squabs_ for Ale, besides seven Shillings to Mother _Suds_ for Washing; and do you fob me off with my Husband?

_Gay_. Here, _Rag_, run and fetch her a Pint of Sack--there’s no other way of quenching the Fire in her flabber Chops.

[_Exit_ Rag.

--But, my dear Landlady, have a little Patience.

_Land_. Patience! I scorn your Words, Sir--is this a place to trust in? tell me of Patience, that us’d to have my money before hand; come, come, pay me quickly--or old _Gregory Grimes_ house shall be too hot to hold you.

_Gay_. Is’t come to this, can I not be heard?

_Land_. No, Sir, you had good Clothes when you came first, but they dwindled daily, till they dwindled to this old Campaign--with tan’d coloured Lining--once red--but now all Colours of the Rain-bow, a Cloke to sculk in a Nights, and a pair of piss-burn’d shammy Breeches. Nay, your very Badge of Manhood’s gone too.

_Gay_. How, Landlady! nay then, i’faith, no wonder if you rail so.

_Land_. Your Silver Sword I mean--transmogrified to this two-handed Basket Hilt--this old Sir _Guy_ of _Warwick_--which will sell for nothing but old Iron. In fine, I’ll have my money, Sir, or i’faith, _Alsatia_ shall not shelter you.

_Enter_ Rag.

_Gay_. Well, Landlady--if we must part--let’s drink at parting; here, Landlady, here’s to the Fool--that shall love you better than I have done. [_Sighing, drinks_.

_Land_. Rot your Wine--dy’e think to pacify me with Wine, Sir?

[_She refusing to drink, he holds open her Jaws_, Rag
_throws a Glass of Wine into her Mouth_.

--What, will you force me?--no--give me another Glass, I scorn to be so uncivil to be forced, my service to you, Sir--this shan’t do, Sir.

[_She drinks, he, embracing her, sings_.

_Ah_, Cloris, _’.is in vain you scold,
Whilst your Eyes kindle such a Fire.
Tour Railing cannot make me cold,
So fast as they a Warmth inspire_.

_Land_. Well, Sir, you have no reason to complain of my Eyes nor my Tongue neither, if rightly understood. [_Weeps_.

_Gay_. I know you are the best of Landladies, As such I drink your Health-- [_Drinks_. But to upbraid a Man in Tribulation--fie--’tis not done like a Woman of Honour, a Man that loves you too.

[She drinks.

_Land_. I am a little hasty sometimes, but you know my good Nature.

_Gay_. I do, and therefore trust my little wants with you. I shall be rich again--and then, my dearest Landlady--

_Land_. Wou’d this Wine might ne’er go through me, if I wou’d not go, as they say, through Fire and Water--by Night or by Day for you. [_She drinks_.

_Gay_. And as this is Wine I do believe thee. [_He drinks_.

_Land_. Well--you have no money in your Pocket now, I’ll warrant you-- here--here’s ten Shillings for you old _Greg’ry_ knows not of. [_Opens a great greasy purse_.

_Gay_. I cannot in Conscience take it, good Faith, I cannot--besides, the next Quarrel you’ll hit me in the Teeth with it.

_Land_. Nay, pray no more of that; forget it, forget it. I own I was to blame--here, Sir, you shall take it.

_Gay_. Ay,--but what shou’d I do with Money in these damn’d Breeches? --No, put it up--I can’t appear abroad thus--no, I’ll stay at home, and lose my business.

_Land_. Why, is there no way to redeem one of your Suits?

_Gay_. None--none--I’ll e’en lay me down and die.

_Land_. Die--marry, Heavens forbid--I would not for the World--let me see--hum--what does it lie for?

_Gay_. Alas! dear Landlady, a Sum--a Sum.

_Land_. Well, say no more, I’ll lay about me.

_Gay_. By this kiss but you shall not--_Assafetida_, by this Light.

_Land_. Shall not? that’s a good one, i’faith: shall you rule, or I?

_Gay_. But shou’d your Husband know it?--

_Land_. Husband--marry come up, Husbands know Wives secrets? No, sure, the World’s not so bad yet--where do your things lie? and for what?

_Gay_. Five Pounds equips me--_Rag_ can conduct you--but I say you shall not go, I’ve sworn.

_Land_. Meddle with your matters--let me see, the Caudle Cup that _Molly’s_ Grandmother left her, will pawn for about that sum--I’ll sneak it out--well, Sir, you shall have your things presently--trouble not your head, but expect me.

[_Ex_. Landlady _and_ Rag.

_Gay_. Was ever man put to such beastly shifts? ‘Sdeath, how she stunk-- my senses are most luxuriously regal’d--there’s my perpetual Musick too--

[_Knocking of Hammers on a Anvil_.

The ringing of Bells is an Ass to’t.

_Enter_ Rag.

_Rag_. Sir, there’s one in a Coach below wou’d speak to you.

_Gay_. With me, and in a Coach! who can it be?

_Rag_. The Devil, I think, for he has a strange Countenance.

_Gay_. The Devil! shew your self a Rascal of Parts, Sirrah, and wait on him up with Ceremony.

_Rag_. Who, the Devil, Sir?

_Gay_. Ay, the Devil, Sir, if you mean to thrive. [_Exit_ Rag. Who can this be--but see he comes to inform me--withdraw.

_Enter_ Bredwel _drest like a Devil_.

_Bred_. I come to bring you this--
[_Gives him a Letter_.

Gayman _reads_.

_Receive what Love and Fortune present you with, be grateful
and be silent, or ‘twill vanish like a dream, and leave you
more wretched that it found You_.
Adieu.

--Hah--
[Gives him a bag of Money.

_Bred_. Nay, view it, Sir, ‘tis all substantial Gold.

_Gay_. Now dare not I ask one civil question for fear it vanish all-- [_Aside_. But I may ask, how ‘tis I ought to pay for this great Bounty.

_Bred_. Sir, all the Pay is Secrecy--

_Gay_. And is this all that is required, Sir?

_Bred_. No, you’re invited to the Shades below.

_Gay_. Hum, Shades below!--I am not prepared for such a Journey, Sir.

_Bred_. If you have Courage, Youth or Love, you’ll follow me: When Night’s black Curtain’s drawn around the World, And mortal Eyes are safely lockt in sleep, [_In feign’d Heroick Tone_. And no bold Spy dares view when Gods caress, Then I’ll conduct thee to the Banks of Bliss. --Durst thou not trust me?

_Gay_. Yes, sure, on such substantial security. [_Hugs the Bag_.

_Bred_. Just when the Day is vanish’d into Night, And only twinkling Stars inform the World, Near to the Corner of the silent Wall, In Fields of _Lincoln’s-Inn_, thy Spirit shall meet thee. --Farewell. [_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Hum--I am awake sure, and this is Gold I grasp. I could not see this Devil’s cloven Foot; Nor am I such a Coxcomb to believe, But he was as substantial as his Gold. Spirits, Ghosts, Hobgoblins, Furies, Fiends and Devils, I’ve often heard old Wives fright Fools and Children with, Which, once arriv’d to common Sense, they laugh at. --No, I am for things possible and Natural: Some Female Devil, old and damn’d to Ugliness, And past all Hopes of Courtship and Address, Full of another Devil called Desire, Has seen this Face--this Shape--this Youth, And thinks it’s worth her Hire. It must be so: I must moil on in the damn’d dirty Road, And sure such Pay will make the Journey easy:

_And for the Price of the dull drudging Night,
All Day I’ll purchase new and fresh Delight_.

[_Exit_.

SCENE II. _Sir_ Feeble’s _House_.

_Enter_ Leticia, _pursu’d by_ Phillis.

_Phil_. Why, Madam, do you leave the Garden, For this retreat to Melancholy?

_Let_. Because it suits my Fortune and my Humour; And even thy Presence wou’d afflict me now.

_Phil_. Madam, I was sent after you; my Lady _Fulbank_ has challeng’d Sir _Feeble_ at Bowls, and stakes a Ring of fifty Pound against his new Chariot.

_Let_. Tell him I wish him Luck in every thing, But in his Love to me-- Go tell him I am viewing of the Garden.

[_Ex_. Phillis.

_Enter_ Bellmour _at a distance behind her_.

--Blest be this kind Retreat, this ‘lone Occasion, That lends a short Cessation to my Torments, And gives me leave to vent my Sighs and Tears. [_Weeps_.

_Bel_. And doubly blest be all the Powers of Love, That give me this dear Opportunity.

_Let_. Where were you, all ye pitying Gods of Love? That once seem’d pleas’d at _Bellmour’s_ Flame and mine, And smiling join’d our Hearts, our sacred Vows, And spread your Wings, and held your Torches high.

_Bel_. Oh--
[_She starts, and pauses_.

_Let_. Where were you now? When this unequal Marriage Gave me from all my Joys, gave me from _Bellmour_; Your Wings were flag’d, your Torches bent to Earth, And all your little Bonnets veil’d your Eyes; You saw not, or were deaf and pitiless.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. Hah, ‘tis there again; that very voice was _Bellmour’s_: Where art thou, Oh thou lovely charming Shade? For sure thou canst not take a Shape to fright me. --What art thou?--speak! [_Not looking behind her yet for fear_.

_Bel_. Thy constant true Adorer, Who all this fatal Day has haunted thee To ease his tortur’d Soul. [_Approaching nearer_.

_Let_. My Heart is well acquainted with that Voice, But Oh, my Eyes dare not encounter thee. [_Speaking with signs of fear_.

_Bel_. Is it because thou’st broken all thy Vows? --Take to thee Courage, and behold thy Slaughters.

_Let_. Yes, though the Sight wou’d blast me, I wou’d view it. [_Turns_. --’Tis he--’tis very _Bellmour!_ or so like-- I cannot doubt but thou deserv’st this Welcome. [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. Oh my _Leticia_!

_Let_. I’m sure I grasp not Air; thou art no Fantom: Thy Arms return not empty to my Bosom, But meet a solid Treasure.

_Bel_. A Treasure thou so easily threw’st away; A Riddle simple Love ne’er understood.

_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.

_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn’d my Funeral?

_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc’d, and much impos’d upon.

[Bellmour _weeps_.

_Bel_. And Want compell’d thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?

_Let_. ‘Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives; The Consummation were Adultery. I was thy Wife before, wo’t thou deny me?

_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.

_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.

_Bel_. Alas!

_Let_. Yet I wou’d wander with thee o’er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.

_Bel_. Is’t possible, _Leticia_, thou wou’dst fly To foreign Shores with me?

_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?

_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I’ll make provision for our Flight.

_Let_. But how ‘twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath’d Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?

_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry Shall well enough secure us. Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day; Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee. --And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new, Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; For mine’s so sick with this Day’s fatal Business, It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; Swear--swear, so as if thou break’st-- Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn’d, _Leticia_.

_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [_Kneels_.

_Bel_. And thus--I’ll listen to thee. [_Kneels_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_? --Hah--hum--what’s here--

_Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she’s gone, she’s gone!

Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her--

[_The Women go to her, take her up_.

_Bel_. She’s gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir _Cau_. She was resolv’d to go in a young Fellow’s Arms, I see.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to, _Francis_--go to.

L. _Ful_. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.

_Bel_. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, --Shou’d I have left her so--if I had known your mind--

Sir _Feeb_. Was it so--was it so?--Got so, by no means, _Francis_.--

_Let_. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.

Sir _Feeb_. Alas, poor Pupsey--was it sick--look here--here’s a fine thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it--oh, how I long for Night. _Ralph_, are the Fidlers ready?

_Ral_. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. That’s well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man’s Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a--hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,--with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo-- [_Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute_.

Sir _Cau_. A prudent Man would reserve himself--Good-facks, I danc’d so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

L. _Ful_. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir _Cautious_? But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.

Sir _Feeb_. Odsbobs, that’s Wormwood, that’s Wormwood--I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she’ll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they’ll ha’t, adod, they will, Sir _Cautious_. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man will keep ‘em from baudy Christnings then, and Gossipings.

Sir _Feeb_. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, when the overjoy’d good Man invites ‘em all against that time Twelve-month: Oh, he’s a dear Man, cries one--I must marry, cries another, here’s a Man indeed--my Husband--God help him--

Sir _Feeb_. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz’d, and turn’d the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir _Cautious_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir _Feeble_; the grave and sober part o’th’ Nation are hereby ridicul’d,--Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos’d upon.

_Enter Fiddles playing, Mr_. Bearjest _and_ Diana _dancing_;
Bredwel, Noisey, &c.

L. _Ful_. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. _Dy’s_ Heart.

_Bea_. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman’s Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a--kind of a--as it were, d’ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other: and Madam--I am, as it were--a bold Adventurer.

_Dia_. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?

_Bea_. Sure!--I thank you for that--as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

_Dia_. How, Sir, scurvily?

_Bea_. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely--keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like _Janus_, or a Spread-Eagle.

_Dia_. And do you expect I shou’d be honest the while?

_Bea_. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?

_Bea_. Except my Lady Aunt--Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family--you shall pardon me, here--cuff me, cuff me soundly. [_Kneels to her_.

_Enter_ Gayman _richly drest_.

_Gay_. This Love’s a damn’d bewitching thing--Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing _Julia_ to night: hah--there, and with a Fop at her Feet.--Oh Vanity of Woman! [_Softly pulls her_.

L. _Ful_. Oh, Sir, you’re welcome from _Northamptonshire_.

_Gay_. Hum--surely she knows the Cheat. [_Aside_.

L. _Ful_. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your Uncle be alive.

_Gay_. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances! But if she have, Confidence must assist me-- [_Aside_. --And, Madam, you’re too gay for me to inquire Whether you are that _Julia_ which I left you?

L. _Ful_. Oh, doubtless, Sir--

_Gay_. But why the Devil do I ask--Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter’d, than privately ador’d: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.

L. _Ful_. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.

_Gay_. What--I’m not discreet enough; I’ll babble all in my next high Debauch, Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms To every wishing Fool.

L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me-- Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_, Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment; What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night, How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine. Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love, Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World, I’m for the Bargain.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--what’s here, a young Spark at my Wife?
[_Goes about ‘em_.

_Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all, My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope? Set me an Age--say when you will be kind, And I will languish out in starving Wish: But thus to gape for Legacies of Love, Till Youth be past Enjoyment, The Devil I will as soon--farewel. [_Offers to go_.

L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay.

_Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [_Aside_.

Sir _Cau_. ‘Tis so, ay, ay, ‘tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; ‘tis here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.

Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he’ll chain her up--the Gad-Bee’s in his Quonundrum--in Charity I’ll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your Ladyship?

L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided--
[_Takes_ Gayman’s _hand_.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on’t, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.

[_They dance all_.

Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs, and then--

_Dia_. And then we’ll have t’other Dance.

Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches --odds bobs, a Man’s cozen’d of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then--we’ll toss the Stocking.

[_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he’ll come?

_Bred_. I do believe so, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.

_Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts.
[_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing?

_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay--

_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i’th’ Garden?

_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have business--

L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed?

_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; ‘tis more important business--

L. _Ful_. Oh, ‘tis too late for business--let to morrow serve.

_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then--

_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he die--

L. _Ful_. ‘Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

_Gay_. Hum--

L. _Ful_. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

_Gay_. Ay--a--he goes--in a Litter--’tis his Fancy, Madam--Change of Air may recover him.

L. _Ful_. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir--farewel.
[_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--Devil, be damn’d--for you shall tempt no more, I’ll love and be undone--but she is gone-- And if I stay, the most that I shall gain Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss. No, my kind Goblin--

_I’ll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
A tantalizing Woman’s worse than Devil_.

[_Exit_.