Chapter XX: Act III: SCENE I. Sir Feeble’s House

_The Second Song before the Entry_.

A SONG made by Mr. _Cheek_.

_No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more
To the admiring World those conquering Charms:
In vain all day unhappy Men adore,
What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms.
Their vain Attempts can ne’er successful prove,
Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts,
Your dazling Beauty you around display,
And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts,
That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way.
Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease,
And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.

_Enter_ Ralph _with Light, Sir_ Feeble, _and_ Bellmour

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, they’re gone--Come, _Francis_, you shall have the Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but ‘twill be a sweet one, _Francis_.

_Bel_. Hell take him, how he teazes me! [_Undressing all the while_.

Sir _Feeb_. But is the young Rogue laid, _Francis_--is she stoln to Bed? What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man’s Appetite?

_Bel_. Ay, Sir--Pox on him--he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. A pise of those Bandstrings--the more haste the less speed.

_Bel_. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, _Venus_.

Sir _Feeb_. Thy aid a little, _Francis_--oh, oh--thou choakest me, ’.bobs, what dost mean? [_Pinches him by the Throat_.

_Bel_. You had so hamper’d ‘em, Sir--the Devil’s very mischievous in me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come, quick, good _Francis_, adod, I’m as yare as a Hawk at the young Wanton--nimbly, good _Francis_, untruss, untruss.

_Bel_. Cramps seize ye--what shall I do? the near Approach distracts me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, my Breeches, good _Francis_. But well, _Francis_, how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

_Bel_. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. No, that wou’d not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with a young Fellow they call _Bellmour_, a handsome young Rascal he was, they say, that’s truth on’t; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill a Man he was forced to fly.

_Bel_. That was great pity, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Pity! hang him, Rogue, ‘sbobs, and all the young Fellows in the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst ‘em, under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what dost think I did? being damnably in love--I feign’d a Letter as from the _Hague_, wherein was a Relation of this same _Bellmour’s_ being hang’d.

_Bel_. Is’t possible, Sir, you cou’d devise such News?

Sir _Feeb_. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News, shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she sigh’d and wept, and swore she’d never marry: still I presented; she hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered her Vows were cancell’d, since _Bellmour_ was hang’d.

_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then his Mistress.

Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou’rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_.

_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I’ve had Livery and Seisin of her Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this _Bellmour_ dares as well be hang’d as come into _England_.

_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you must know, got his Pardon already.

_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that’s some amends for robbing him of his Wife.

Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think ‘twas in kindness to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he’s defunct, trust up, hang’d, _Francis_.

_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?--

Sir _Feeb_. I’ve done’t, I’ve done’t; Pox on him, it cost me five hundred pounds though: Here ‘tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Evening. [_Gives it him_.

_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang’d by a Trick indeed. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe.

_Bel_. Safe, I’ll warrant you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t’other Sleeve, Man--so now my Night-cap; well, I’ll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women, and jump into her Arms. [_Exit Sir_ Feeble.

_Bel_. He’s gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

_Enter a Footman_.

_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for’t.

_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it shall be sent him in the Morning.

_Foot_. ‘Tis very well, Sir--your Servant--
[_Exit_ Footman.

_Bel_. Let me see--here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him--but his sending has inspir’d me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better than Force, to secure the poor trembling _Leticia_--who, I am sure, is dying with her Fears.

[_Exit_ Bellmour.

SCENE II. _Changes to the Bed-chamber; _Leticia_ in an undressing by the Women at the Table_.

_Enter to them Sir_ Feeble Fainwou’d.

Sir _Feeb_. What’s here? what’s here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs, what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, _Leticia_.

_Let_. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou’d not have me go to Bed before all this Company.

Sir _Feeb_. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, ‘tis the fashion.

_Let_. What, with a Man? I wou’d not for the World. Oh, _Bellmour_, where art thou with all thy promised aid? [_Aside_.

_Dia_. Nay, Madam, we shou’d see you laid indeed.

_Let_. First in my Grave, _Diana_.

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, here’s a Compact amongst the Women--High Treason against the Bridegroom--therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I’ll lock you all in. [_Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door_.

So, so, now we’re alone, _Leticia_--off with this foolish Modesty, and Night Gown, and slide into my Arms. [_She runs from him_. H’e’, my little Puskin--what, fly me, my coy _Daphne_, [_He pursues her. Knocking_. Hah--who’s that knocks--who’s there?--

_Bel_. [_Within_.] ‘Tis I, Sir, ‘tis I, open the door presently.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what’s the matter, is the House o-fire?

_Bel_. [_Within_.] Worse, Sir, worse--

[_He opens the door, _Bellmour_ enters with the Watch in his hand_.

_Let_. ‘Tis _Bellmour’s_ Voice!

_Bel_. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!

_Bel_. Ay, Sir, this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!--why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? ‘tis Sir _Cautious Fulbank’s_ Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me with Watches? [_Offers to put him out, he returns_.

_Bel_. ‘Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for you, to come immediately to his House, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. What a Devil, art mad, _Francis_? or is his Worship mad, or does he think me mad?--go, prithee tell him I’ll come to him to morrow. [_Goes to put him out_.

_Bel_. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow.

Sir _Feeb_. What sayst thou, Throat cut?

_Bel_. Why, the City’s up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at _Guild-Hall_; some damnable Plot, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--Plot--the Aldermen met at _Guild-Hall!_--hum--why, let ’.m meet, I’ll not lose this Night to save the Nation.

_Let_. Wou’d you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require your Presence?

Sir _Feeb_.--Hum--met at _Guild-Hall_;--my Clothes, my Gown again, _Francis_, I’ll out--out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No--I’ll in. [_Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again_.

_Let_. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate without you?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, that’s true, that’s true; come truss again, _Francis_, truss again--yet now I think on’t, _Francis_, prithee run thee to the Hall, and tell ‘em ‘tis my Wedding-night, d’ye see, _Francis_; and let some body give my Voice for--

_Bel_. What, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let ‘em fight Dog, fight Bear; mun, I’ll to Bed--go--

_Let_. And shall his Majesty’s Service and his Safety lie unregarded for a slight Woman, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, his Majesty!--come, haste, _Francis_, I’ll away, and call _Ralph_, and the Footmen, and bid ‘em arm; each Man shoulder his Musket, and advance his Pike--and bring my Artillery Implements quick--and let’s away: Pupsey--b’u’., Pupsey, I’ll bring it a fine thing yet before Morning, it may be--let’s away: I shall grow fond, and forget the business of the Nation--Come, follow me, _Francis_.--

[_Exit Sir_ Feeble, Bellmour _runs to_ Leticia.

_Bel_. Now, my _Leticia_, if thou e’er didst Love, If ever thou design’st to make me blest--Without delay fly this adulterous Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, _Francis_, where are you, Knave?
[_Sir _Feeb_. within_.

_Bel_. I must be gone, lest he suspect us--I’ll lose him, and return to thee immediately--get thy self ready.--

_Let_. I will not fail, my Love.

[_Exit_ Bellmour.

_Old Man forgive me--thou the Aggressor art,
Who rudely forc’d the Hand without the Heart.
She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove,
Whose Guide’s Religion, and whose End is Love_.

[_Exit_.

SCENE III. _Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House_.

_Enter with a Dark-lanthorn_ Bredwel _disguis’d like a Devil,
leading_ Gayman.

_Bred_. Stay here till I give notice of your coming.
[_Exit_ Bredwel, _leaves his Dark-Lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Kind Light, a little of your aid--now must I be peeping, though my Curiosity should lose me all--hah--Zouns, what here--a Hovel or a Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to swear in, but just when I’m in the Devil’s Clutches.

_Enter_ Pert, _as an old Woman, with a Staff_.

_Old W_. Good Even to you, fair Sir.

_Gay_. Ha--defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that’s certain.

_Old W_. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?

_Gay_. He must be as hot as _Vesuvius_ that does--I shall never earn my Morning’s Present.

_Old W_. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?

_Gay_. The Devil I do--this is a damn’d Preparation to Love.

_Old W_. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman’s Passion is like the Tide, it stays for no man when the hour is come--

_Gay_. I’m sorry I have took it at its Turning; I’m sure mine’s ebbing out as fast.

_Old W_. Will you not speak, Sir--will you not on?

_Gay_. I wou’d fain ask--a civil Question or two first.

_Old W_. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.

_Gay_. Why, there’s it now.

_Old W_. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.

_Gay_. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar’d me in vain. Were I but sure she were but human now--for sundry Considerations she might down--but I will on--

[_She goes, he follows; both go out_.

SCENE IV. _A Chamber in the Apartments of L. _Fulbank.

_Enter_ Old Woman _followed by_ Gayman _in the dark_.

[_Soft Musick plays, she leaves him_.

_Gay_.--Hah, Musick--and Excellent!

SONG.

_Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine,
Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
Want to be prized above all Wealth,
Disease that has more Joys than Health;
Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
And of thy Tyranny complain,
We all are bettered by thy Reign.

What Reason never can bestow,
We to this useful Passion owe.
Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease,
And learns a Clown the Art to please:
Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold.
‘Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink,
And teaches airy Fops to think.

When full brute Appetite is fed,
And choak’d the Glutton lies, and dead;
Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
And fine’st the gross Delights of Sense.
Virtue’s unconquerable Aid,
That against Nature can persuade;
And makes a roving Mind retire
Within the Bounds of just Desire.
Chearer of Age, Youth’s kind Unrest,
And half the Heaven of the blest_.

_Gay_. Ah, _Julia, Julia!_ if this soft Preparation Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces; What different Motions wou’d surround my Soul, From what perplex it now.

_Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance_.

[_Then two dance alone. All go out but_ Pert _and a Shepherd_.

--If these be Devils, they are obliging ones: I did not care if I ventur’d on that last Female Fiend.

Man sings.

_Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess,
Whence arrives your happiness.
Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain,
Human Fancy is in vain_.

Chorus.

_’.is enough, you once shall find,
Fortune may to Worth be kind_; [gives him Gold.
_And Love can leave off being blind_.

Pert sings.

_You, before you enter here
On this sacred Ring must swear_,
[Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand.
_By the Figure which is round,
Your Passion constant and profound;
By the Adamantine Stone,
To be fixt to one alone:

By the Lustre, which is true,
Ne’er to break your sacred Vow.
Lastly, by the Gold that’s try’d,
For Love all Dangers to abide_.

They all dance about him, while those same two sing.

Man. _Once about him let us move,
To confirm him true to Love_. [bis.

Pert. _Twice with mystick turning Feet,
Make him silent and discreet_. [bis.

Man. _Thrice about him let us tread,
To keep him ever young in Bed_. [bis.

Gives him another part.

Man. _Forget_ Aminta’s _proud Disdain;
Haste here, and sigh no more in vain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

Pert. _That God repents his former Slights,
And Fortune thus your Faith requites_.

Both. _Forget_ Aminta’s _proud Disdain;
Then taste, and sigh no more in vain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

[_Exeunt_ all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him.

_Gay_. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the Case--sure I have not liv’d so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?--that cannot be--this Age affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw were Mortal. No--’tis a Woman--I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No--since ‘tis resolved, a Woman--she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.

_Well--be she young or old, Woman or Devil,
She pays, and I’ll endeavour to be civil_.

[_Exit_.

SCENE V. _In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall_.

_After a Knocking, enter_ Bredwel _in his masking Habit, with
his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t’other, in haste_.

_Bred_. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate--
[_Opens the door_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble _drest, and arm’d Cap-a-pee, with a broad
Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat
and half Pike_.

Sir _Feeb_. How now, how now, what’s the matter here?

_Bred_. Matter, what, is my Lady’s innocent Intrigue found out?-- Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

Sir _Feeb_. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?

_Bred_. I have been dancing among some of my Friends.

Sir _Feeb_. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends. Where’s Sir _Cautious_, where’s Sir _Cautious_?

_Bred_. Sir _Cautious_--Sir, in Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Call him, call him--quickly, good _Edward_.

_Bred_. Sure my Lady’s Frolick is betray’d, and he comes to make Mischief. However, I’ll go and secure Mr. _Gayman_. [_Exit_ Bredwel.

_Enter Sir_ Cautious _and_ Dick _his Boy with Light_.

_Dick_. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here’s no Thieves; all’s still and well.

Sir _Cau_. This last Night’s misfortune of mine, _Dick_, has kept me waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at one clap, _Dick_.--Hah--bless me! what’s yonder? Blow the great Horn, _Dick_--Thieves--Murder, Murder!

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? ‘Tis I, ‘tis I, man.

Sir _Cau_. I, who am I? Speak--declare--pronounce.

Sir _Feeb_. Your Friend, old _Feeble Fainwou’d_.

Sir _Cau_. How, Sir _Feeble_! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night --why, what’s the matter, Sir--is it Peace or War with you?

Sir _Feeb_. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother, for time you know is precious.

Sir _Cau_. Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his Wife to Night, and makes him disturb me thus-- [_Aside_. --Come, sit, good Brother, and to the business as you say--

[_They sit one at one end of the Table, the other at the other;
_Dick_ sets down the Light and goes out--both sit gaping and
staring, and expecting when either should speak_.

Sir _Feeb_. As soon as you please, Sir. Lord, how wildly he stares! He’s much disturb’d in’s mind --Well, Sir, let us be brief--

Sir _Cau_. As brief as you please, Sir--Well, Brother--
[_Pausing still_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. How strangely he stares and gapes--some deep concern.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--hum--

Sir _Cau_. I listen to you, advance--

Sir _Feeb_. Sir?

Sir _Cau_. A very distracted Countenance--pray Heaven he be not mad, and a young Wife is able to make an old Fellow mad, that’s the Truth on’t. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Sure ‘tis something of his Lady--he’s so loth to bring it out --I am sorry you are thus disturb’d, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No disturbance to serve a Friend--

Sir _Feeb_. I think I am your Friend indeed, Sir _Cautious_, or I wou’d not have been here upon my Wedding-Night.

Sir _Cau_. His Wedding-Night--there lies his Grief, poor Heart! Perhaps she has cuckolded him already-- [_Aside_. --Well, come, Brother--many such things are done--

Sir _Feeb_. Done--hum--come, out with it; Brother--what troubles you to Night?

Sir _Cau_. Troubles me--why, knows he I am robb’d? [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. I may perhaps restore you to the Rest you’ve lost.

Sir _Cau_. The Rest; why, have I lost more since? Why, know you then who did it?--Oh, how I’d be reveng’d upon the Rascal!

Sir _Feeb_. ‘Tis--Jealousy, the old Worm that bites-- [_Aside_. Who is it you suspect?

Sir _Cau_. Alas, I know not whom to suspect, I wou’d I did; but if you cou’d discover him--I wou’d so swinge him--

Sir _Feeb_. I know him--what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know him--there’s your Watch again, Sir; I’m your Friend, but no Pimp, Sir-- [_Rises in Rage_.

Sir _Cau_. My Watch; I thank you, Sir--but why Pimp, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,--and I have a young Wife to practise with. I know your Rogues.

Sir _Cau_. A young Wife!--’tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he’s Horn-mad upon’t. I suspected her being so close in with his Nephew--in a Fit with a Pox--[_Aside_.] Come, come, Sir _Feeble_, ‘tis many an honest Man’s Fortune.

Sir _Feeb_. I grant it, Sir--but to the business, Sir, I came for.

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--

[_They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak.
Enter_ Bredwel _and_ Gayman _at the door_. Bredwel _sees them,
and puts_ Gayman_ back again_.

_Bred_. Hah--Sir _Feeble_, and Sir _Cautious_ there--what shall I do? For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou’d discover my Lady to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest--retire, Sir, your Life depends upon your being unseen. [_Go out_.

Sir _Feeb_. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this my Wedding Night?

Sir _Cau_. Very good, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And that I long to be in bed?

Sir _Cau_. Very well, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir--why then what the Devil do I make here, Sir? [_Rises in a rage_.

Sir _Cau_. Patience, Brother--and forward.

Sir _Feeb_. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let’s feel your Pulse; how has this Night gone with you?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--this is the oddest Quonudrum--sure he’s mad--and yet now I think on’t, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep again, till I have found the Villain that robb’d me. [_Weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, now he weeps--far gone--this Laughing and Weeping is a very bad sign! [_Aside_.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed.

Sir _Cau_. Mad, stark mad--no, now I’m up ‘tis no matter--pray ease your troubled Mind--I am your Friend--out with it--what, was it acted? or but designed?

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Be not asham’d, I’m under the same Premunire I doubt, little better than a--but let that pass.

Sir _Feeb_. Have you any Proof?

Sir _Cau_. Proof of what, good Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Of what! why, that you’re a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if you’ll ha’t.

Sir _Cau_. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say?

Sir _Feeb_. What I say?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, what you say, can you make this out?

Sir _Feeb_. I make it out!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir--if you say it, and cannot make it out, you’re a--

Sir _Feeb_. What am I, Sir? What am I?

Sir _Cau_. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I’ll sue you for _Scandalum Magnatum_; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury.

Sir _Feeb_. I know of no such thing, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Then what wou’d you be at, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. I be at, Sir! what wou’d you be at, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--why this is the strangest thing--to see an old Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he’s married, forsake his Bride and Bed, and come arm’d Cap-a-pee, like _Gargantua_, to disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all to be-cuckold him here--in plain _English_, what’s your Business?

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what the Devil’s your Business, and you go to that?

Sir _Cau_. My Business, with whom?

Sir _Feeb_. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here?

Sir _Cau_. ‘Tis that I wou’d be glad to know, Sir.

_Enter _Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Dick_, remember I’ve brought back your Master’s Watch; next time he sends for me o’er Night, I’ll come to him in the Morning.

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir--Ad, and ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you’ll go near to be haunted with a Vision of Horns.

[_Exit_ Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife--Look ye, this was the Message I receiv’d. [_Tells him seemingly_.

_Enter_ Bredwel _to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost,
speaking to_ Gayman _who stands within_.

_Bred_. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be taken in the Lady’s Lodgings--I’ll first adventure out to make you pass the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir _Cautious_, whom I shall fright into a Trance, I am sure. And Sir _Feeble_, the Devil’s in’t if he know him. [_Aside_.

_Gay_. A brave kind Fellow this.

_Enter_ Bredwel _stalking on as a Ghost by them_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh--undone,--undone; help, help;--I’m dead, I’m dead.
[_Falls down on his Face; Sir_ Feeble _stares,--and stands still_.

_Bred_. As I could wish. [_Aside, turns_. Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me.

_Enter_ Gayman _like a Ghost, with a Torch_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord, oh Lord!

_Gay_. Hah!--old Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d_--why, where the Devil am I? --’Tis he:--and be it where it will, I’ll fright the old Dotard for cozening my Friend of his Mistress. [_Stalks on_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, guard me,--guard me--all ye Pow’rs! [_Trembling_.

_Gay_. Thou call’st in vain, fond Wretch--for I am _Bellmour_,

_Whom first thou robb’st of Fame and Life,
And then what dearer was,--his Wife_.

[_Goes out, shaking his Torch at him_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord--oh Lord!

_Enter L_. Fulbank _in an undress, and_ Pert _undrest.

L. _Ful_. Heavens, what noise is this?--So he’s got safe out I see--hah, what thing art thou? [_Sees Sir _Feeble_ arm’d_.

Sir _Feeb_. Stay, Madam, stay--’tis I, a poor trembling Mortal.

L. _Ful_. Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d!_--rise,--are you both mad?

Sir _Cau_. No, no,--Madam, we have seen the Devil.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and he was as tall as the Monument.

Sir _Cau_. With Eyes like a Beacon--and a Mouth,--Heaven bless us, like _London_ Bridge at a full Tide.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and roar’d as loud.

L. _Ful_. Idle Fancies, what makes you from your Bed? and you, Sir, from your Bride?

_Enter_ Dick _with Sack_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! that’s the business of another day, a mistake only, Madam.

L. _Ful_. Away, I’m asham’d to see wise Men so weak; the Fantoms of the Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest, or perhaps _Bredwel_, your Man--who being wiser than his Master, play’d you this Trick to fright you both to Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--adod, and that may be, for the young Knave when he let me in to Night, was drest up for some Waggery--

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, ‘twas even so, sure enough, Brother--

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, but they frighted me at first basely--but I’ll home to Pupsey, there may be Roguery, as well as here--Madam, I ask your Pardon, I see we’re all mistaken.

L. _Ful_. Ay, Sir _Feeble_, go home to your Wife.

[_Ex. severally_.

SCENE VI. _The Street_.

_Enter_ Bellmour _at the door, knocks, and enter to him
from the House_, Phillis.

_Phil_. Oh, are you come, Sir? I’ll call my Lady down.

_Bel_. Oh, haste, the Minutes fly--leave all behind. And bring _Leticia_ only to my Arms. [_A noise of People_. --Hah, what noise is that? ‘Tis coming this way, I tremble with my fears--hah, Death and the Devil, ’.is he--

_Enter Sir_ Feeble _and his Men arm’d, goes to the door, knocks_.

Ay, ‘tis he, and I’m undone--what shall I do to kill him now? besides, the Sin wou’d put me past all Hopes of pardoning.

Sir _Feeb_. A damn’d Rogue to deceive me thus.--

_Bel_. Hah--see, by Heaven _Leticia_, Oh, we are ruin’d!

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what’s here, two Women?--
[_Stands a little off_.

_Enter_ Leticia _and_ Phillis _softly, undrest, with a Box_.

_Let_. Where are you, my best Wishes? Lord of my Vows--and Charmer of my Soul? Where are you?

_Bel_. Oh, Heavens!--
[_Draws his Sword half-way_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, who’s here? My Gentlewoman--she’s monstrous kind of the sudden. But whom is’t meant to? [_Aside_.

_Let_. Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All--Alas! where are you?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--no, no, this is not to me--I am jilted, cozen’d, cuckolded, and so forth.-- [_Groping, she takes hold of Sir_ Feeb.

_Let_. Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence--here, take these Jewels, and let us haste away.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a Sham-Plot for this!--She cannot mean it to me. [_Aside_.

_Let_. Will you not speak?--will you not answer me?--do you repent already?--before Enjoyment are you cold and false?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, before Enjoyment--that must be me. Before Injoyment-- Ay, ay, ‘tis I--I see a little Prolonging a Woman’s Joy, sets an Edge upon her Appetite. [_Merrily_.

_Let_. What means my Dear? shall we not haste away?

Sir _Feeb_. Haste away! there ‘tis again--No--’tis not me she means: what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?--Yes, yes, I am destin’d a Cuckold--

_Let_. Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me?

Sir _Feeb_. Wife! adod, ‘tis I she means--’tis I she means--[_Merrily_.

_Let_. Oh _Bellmour, Bellmour_.

[_Sir _Feeb_. starts back from her hands_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what’s that--_Bellmour_!

_Let_. Hah! Sir _Feeble_!--he would not, Sir, have us’d me thus unkindly.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--I’m glad ‘tis no worse--_Bellmour_, quoth a! I thought the Ghost was come again.

_Phil_. Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while?--my Lady weeps with your Unkindness.

Sir _Feeb_. I did but hold my peace, to hear how prettily she prattled Love: But, fags, you are naught to think of a young Fellow--ads bobs, you are now.

_Let_. I only say--he wou’d not have been so unkind to me.

Sir _Feeb_. But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels?

_Phil_. Alas, Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and packt up our things to secure ‘em, if there had been a necessity for Flight. For had they come to plundering once, they wou’d have begun with the rich Aldermen’s Wives, you know, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, and so they would--but there was no Arms, nor Mutiny--where’s _Francis_?

_Bel_. Here, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, Sir--why, what a story you made of a Meeting in the Hall, and--Arms, and--a--the Devil of any thing was stirring, but a couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and waiting for one another’s business--

_Bel_. Such a Message was brought me, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Brought! thou’rt an Ass, _Francis_--but no more--come, come, let’s to bed--

_Let_. To Bed, Sir! what, by Day-light?--for that’s hasting on--I wou’d not for the World--the Night wou’d hide my Blushes--but the Day--wou’d let me see my self in your Embraces.

Sir _Feeb_. Embraces, in a Fiddlestick; why, are we not married?

_Let_. ‘Tis true, Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but yet my Virgin Modesty forbids it. I’ll to _Diana’s_ Chamber, the Night will come again.

Sir _Feeb_. For once you shall prevail; and this damn’d Jant has pretty well mortified me:--a Pox of your Mutiny, _Francis_.--Come, I’ll conduct thee to _Diana_, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe, Rogue.--

_We’ll give young Wenches leave to whine and blush,
And fly those Blessings which--ads bobs, they wish_.

[_Exeunt_.