Sir Feeb. Ah,—I do confess I was an old Fool,—bewitcht with Beauty, besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily.
Bel. No, you had rather yet go on in Sin: Thou wou’dst live on, and be a baffled Cuckold.
Sir Feeb. Oh, not for the World, Sir! I am convinc’d and mortifi’d.
Bel. Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be Cuckol’d on,—believe her,—trust her, and be Cuckol’d still.
Sir Feeb. I see my Folly—and my Age’s Dotage—and find the Devil was in me—yet spare my Age—ah! spare me to repent.
Bel. If thou repent’st, renounce her, fly her sight;—
Shun her bewitching Charms, as thou wou’dst Hell,
Those dark eternal Mansions of the dead—
Whither I must descend.
Sir Feeb. Oh—wou’d he were gone!—
Bel. Fly—be gone—depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe and innocent Apartment.
Sir Feeb. Oh, that’s very hard!—
[He goes back trembling, Bellmour follows in with his Dagger up; both go out.