Carl. Hold a little;—you may remember too, Madam Bride, that I promised you an epithalamium. 'Twas meant a satire; but fortune has turned it to a jest. I have given it to the musicians, and brought them along with me; strike up, gentlemen.
[The Dance is first, then the Song, the last Words of which are sung while the Company is going out, and the Musick plays before them.
SONG.
BY MR CONGREVE.
I.
How happy's the husband, whose wife has been tried!
Not damned to the bed of an ignorant bride!
Secure of what's left, he ne'er misses the rest,
But where there's enough, supposes a feast;
So, foreknowing the cheat,