Sir Feeb. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter, Sir? [To Bredwel, who with Diana kneels.
Bred. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing—
Sir Feeb. You will ha’t, whether I will or not—rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew—
Sir Cau. Well, Sir, I will—but all this while you little think the
Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.
Sir Feeb. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.
Sir Cau. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.
Sir Feeb. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you’re a wise man. Come, dry your Eyes—and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs; d’ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.
Sir Cau. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to you—with my whole Estate—my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. [To Gayman.
Gay. I thank you, Sir—do you consent, my Julia?
L. Ful. No, Sir—you do not like me—a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.