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—