Let. Blest be this kind Release, and yet methinks it grieves me to consider how the poor old Man is frighted.
[Bellmour re-enters, puts on his Coat.
Bel.—He’s gone, and lock’d himself into his Chamber— And now, my dear Leticia, let us fly—
Despair till now did my wild Heart invade,
But pitying Love has the rough Storm allay’d.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III. Sir Cautious his Garden.
Enter two Porters and Rag, bearing Gayman in a Chest; set it down, he comes forth with a Dark-lanthorn.
Gay. Set down the Chest behind yon hedge of Roses—and then put on those Shapes I have appointed you—and be sure you well-favour’dly bang both Bearjest and Noisey, since they have a mind to see the Devil.
Rag. Oh, Sir, leave ‘em to us for that; and if we do not play the Devil with ‘em, we deserve they shou’d beat us. But, Sir, we are in Sir Cautious his Garden, will he not sue us for a Trespass?
Gay. I’ll bear you out; be ready at my Call.