Ral. Yes, and took on most heavily—the Doctors gave her over—and there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage—but her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at the Spittal Sermon, did the Business—and so your Servant, Sir. [Ex. Ralph.
Bel. So, here’s a hopeful Account of my sweet self now.
Enter Post-man with Letters.
Post. Pray, Sir, which is Sir Feeble Fainwou’d’.?
Bel. What wou’d you with him, Friend?
Post. I have a Letter here from the Hague for him.
Bel. From the Hague! Now have I a curiosity to see it—I am his Servant—give it me—[Gives it him, and Exit.—Perhaps here may be the second part of my Tragedy, I’m full of Mischief, Charles—and have a mind to see this Fellow’s Secrets. For from this hour I’ll be his evil Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit: [Opening the Letter. Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief. [Reads.
Dear Brother,
_According to your desire I have sent for my Son from
St. Omer’s, whom I have sent to wait on you in_ England;
he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much
pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he’s so obliged, and
which is so gratefully acknowledged by—Dear Brother, your
affectionate Brother,
Francis Fainwou’d.
—Hum—hark ye, Charles, do you know who I am now?