The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume III

by Aphra Behn

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.