Sir Feeb. Mum—no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your
Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.
L. Ful. Pray go to Bed, Sir.
Sir Feeb. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [Weeps. Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool—to think she’d love me—’twas by base means I gain’d her—cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life—
L. Ful. You did so, Sir, but ‘tis not past Redress—you may make that honest Gentleman amends.
Sir Feeb. Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate—
L. Ful. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.—Come forth, Leticia, and your injur’d Ghost.
Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.
Sir Feeb. Hah, Ghost—another Sight would make me mad indeed.
Bel. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.
Sir Feeb. Hah—who’s that, Francis!—my Nephew Francis?