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!