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The Works of Aphra Behn, Vol. III by Aphra Behn

Part 6 out of 12

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[_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman.

L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing?

_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay--

_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i'th'

_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing,
and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have

L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed?

_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; 'tis more important

L. _Ful_. Oh, 'tis too late for business--let to morrow serve.

_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then--

_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he

L. _Ful_. 'Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

_Gay_. Hum--

L. _Ful_. The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

_Gay_. Ay--a--he goes--in a Litter--'tis his Fancy, Madam--Change of Air
may recover him.

L. _Ful_. So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir--farewel.
[_Goes out_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--Devil, be damn'd--for you shall tempt no more,
I'll love and be undone--but she is gone--
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss.
No, my kind Goblin--

_I'll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
A tantalizing Woman's worse than Devil_.



SCENE I. _Sir_ Feeble's _House_.

_The Second Song before the Entry_.

A SONG made by Mr. _Cheek_.

_No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more
To the admiring World those conquering Charms:
In vain all day unhappy Men adore,
What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms.
Their vain Attempts can ne'er successful prove,
Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts,
Your dazling Beauty you around display,
And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts,
That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way.
Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease,
And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.

_Enter_ Ralph _with Light, Sir_ Feeble, _and_ Bellmour

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, they're gone--Come, _Francis_, you shall have the
Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but 'twill be a sweet one,

_Bel_. Hell take him, how he teazes me! [_Undressing all the while_.

Sir _Feeb_. But is the young Rogue laid, _Francis_--is she stoln to Bed?
What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man's Appetite?

_Bel_. Ay, Sir--Pox on him--he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I
shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. A pise of those Bandstrings--the more haste the less speed.

_Bel_. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, _Venus_.

Sir _Feeb_. Thy aid a little, _Francis_--oh, oh--thou choakest me,
'sbobs, what dost mean? [_Pinches him by the Throat_.

_Bel_. You had so hamper'd 'em, Sir--the Devil's very mischievous
in me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come, quick, good _Francis_, adod, I'm as yare as a
Hawk at the young Wanton--nimbly, good _Francis_, untruss, untruss.

_Bel_. Cramps seize ye--what shall I do? the near Approach distracts
me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, my Breeches, good _Francis_. But well, _Francis_,
how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

_Bel_. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. No, that wou'd not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with
a young Fellow they call _Bellmour_, a handsome young Rascal he was,
they say, that's truth on't; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill
a Man he was forced to fly.

_Bel_. That was great pity, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Pity! hang him, Rogue, 'sbobs, and all the young Fellows in
the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest
for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst 'em,
under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what
dost think I did? being damnably in love--I feign'd a Letter as from the
_Hague_, wherein was a Relation of this same _Bellmour's_ being hang'd.

_Bel_. Is't possible, Sir, you cou'd devise such News?

Sir _Feeb_. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News,
shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she
sigh'd and wept, and swore she'd never marry: still I presented; she
hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented
my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered
her Vows were cancell'd, since _Bellmour_ was hang'd.

_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then
his Mistress.

Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk
Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our
Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_.

_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I've had Livery and Seisin of her
Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this
_Bellmour_ dares as well be hang'd as come into _England_.

_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you
must know, got his Pardon already.

_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of
his Wife.

Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think 'twas in kindness
to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should
have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his
Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he's
defunct, trust up, hang'd, _Francis_.

_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?--

Sir _Feeb_. I've done't, I've done't; Pox on him, it cost me five
hundred pounds though: Here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this
Evening. [_Gives it him_.

_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a
Trick indeed. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe.

_Bel_. Safe, I'll warrant you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t'other Sleeve, Man--so now my
Night-cap; well, I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women,
and jump into her Arms.
[_Exit Sir_ Feeble.

_Bel_. He's gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

_Enter a Footman_.

_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the
little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for't.

_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it
shall be sent him in the Morning.

_Foot_. 'Tis very well, Sir--your Servant--
[_Exit_ Footman.

_Bel_. Let me see--here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him--but
his sending has inspir'd me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better
than Force, to secure the poor trembling _Leticia_--who, I am sure, is
dying with her Fears.

[_Exit_ Bellmour.

SCENE II. _Changes to the Bed-chamber; _Leticia_ in an undressing by the
Women at the Table_.

_Enter to them Sir_ Feeble Fainwou'd.

Sir _Feeb_. What's here? what's here? the prating Women still. Ods bobs,
what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, _Leticia_.

_Let_. For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before
all this Company.

Sir _Feeb_. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, 'tis the

_Let_. What, with a Man? I wou'd not for the World.
Oh, _Bellmour_, where art thou with all thy promised aid? [_Aside_.

_Dia_. Nay, Madam, we shou'd see you laid indeed.

_Let_. First in my Grave, _Diana_.

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, here's a Compact amongst the Women--High Treason
against the Bridegroom--therefore, Ladies, withdraw, or, adod, I'll lock
you all in.
[_Throws open his Gown, they run all away, he locks the Door_.

So, so, now we're alone, _Leticia_--off with this foolish Modesty, and
Night Gown, and slide into my Arms.
[_She runs from him_.
H'e', my little Puskin--what, fly me, my coy _Daphne_,
[_He pursues her. Knocking_.
Hah--who's that knocks--who's there?--

_Bel_. [_Within_.] 'Tis I, Sir, 'tis I, open the door presently.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what's the matter, is the House o-fire?

_Bel_. [_Within_.] Worse, Sir, worse--

[_He opens the door, _Bellmour_ enters with the Watch in his hand_.

_Let_. 'Tis _Bellmour's_ Voice!

_Bel_. Oh, Sir, do you know this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!

_Bel_. Ay, Sir, this Watch?

Sir _Feeb_. This Watch!--why, prithee, why dost tell me of a Watch? 'tis
Sir _Cautious Fulbank's_ Watch; what then, what a Pox dost trouble me
with Watches? [_Offers to put him out, he returns_.

_Bel_. 'Tis indeed his Watch, Sir, and by this Token he has sent for
you, to come immediately to his House, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. What a Devil, art mad, _Francis_? or is his Worship mad, or
does he think me mad?--go, prithee tell him I'll come to him to morrow.
[_Goes to put him out_.

_Bel_. To morrow, Sir! why all our Throats may be cut before to morrow.

Sir _Feeb_. What sayst thou, Throat cut?

_Bel_. Why, the City's up in Arms, Sir, and all the Aldermen are met at
_Guild-Hall_; some damnable Plot, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--Plot--the Aldermen met at _Guild-Hall!_--hum--why, let
'em meet, I'll not lose this Night to save the Nation.

_Let_. Wou'd you to bed, Sir, when the weighty Affairs of State require
your Presence?

Sir _Feeb_.--Hum--met at _Guild-Hall_;--my Clothes, my Gown again,
_Francis_, I'll out--out! what, upon my Wedding-night? No--I'll in.
[_Putting on his Gown pausing, pulls it off again_.

_Let_. For shame, Sir, shall the Reverend Council of the City debate
without you?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, that's true, that's true; come truss again, _Francis_,
truss again--yet now I think on't, _Francis_, prithee run thee to the
Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-night, d'ye see, _Francis_; and let
some body give my Voice for--

_Bel_. What, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let 'em fight
Dog, fight Bear; mun, I'll to Bed--go--

_Let_. And shall his Majesty's Service and his Safety lie unregarded for
a slight Woman, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, his Majesty!--come, haste, _Francis_, I'll away, and
call _Ralph_, and the Footmen, and bid 'em arm; each Man shoulder his
Musket, and advance his Pike--and bring my Artillery Implements
quick--and let's away: Pupsey--b'u'y, Pupsey, I'll bring it a fine thing
yet before Morning, it may be--let's away: I shall grow fond, and forget
the business of the Nation--Come, follow me, _Francis_.--

[_Exit Sir_ Feeble, Bellmour _runs to_ Leticia.

_Bel_. Now, my _Leticia_, if thou e'er didst Love, If ever thou
design'st to make me blest--Without delay fly this adulterous Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, _Francis_, where are you, Knave?
[_Sir _Feeb_. within_.

_Bel_. I must be gone, lest he suspect us--I'll lose him, and return to
thee immediately--get thy self ready.--

_Let_. I will not fail, my Love.

[_Exit_ Bellmour.

_Old Man forgive me--thou the Aggressor art,
Who rudely forc'd the Hand without the Heart.
She cannot from the Paths of Honour rove,
Whose Guide's Religion, and whose End is Love_.


SCENE III. _Changes to a Wash-house, or Out-House_.

_Enter with a Dark-lanthorn_ Bredwel _disguis'd like a Devil,
leading_ Gayman.

_Bred_. Stay here till I give notice of your coming.
[_Exit_ Bredwel, _leaves his Dark-Lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Kind Light, a little of your aid--now must I be peeping, though
my Curiosity should lose me all--hah--Zouns, what here--a Hovel or a
Hog-sty? hum, see the Wickedness of Man, that I should find no time to
swear in, but just when I'm in the Devil's Clutches.

_Enter_ Pert, _as an old Woman, with a Staff_.

_Old W_. Good Even to you, fair Sir.

_Gay_. Ha--defend me; if this be she, I must rival the Devil, that's

_Old W_. Come, young Gentleman, dare not you venture?

_Gay_. He must be as hot as _Vesuvius_ that does--I shall never earn my
Morning's Present.

_Old W_. What, do you fear a longing Woman, Sir?

_Gay_. The Devil I do--this is a damn'd Preparation to Love.

_Old W_. Why stand you gazing, Sir? A Woman's Passion is like the Tide,
it stays for no man when the hour is come--

_Gay_. I'm sorry I have took it at its Turning; I'm sure mine's ebbing
out as fast.

_Old W_. Will you not speak, Sir--will you not on?

_Gay_. I wou'd fain ask--a civil Question or two first.

_Old W_. You know too much Curiosity lost Paradise.

_Gay_. Why, there's it now.

_Old W_. Fortune and Love invite you, if you dare follow me.

_Gay_. This is the first thing in Petticoats that ever dar'd me in vain.
Were I but sure she were but human now--for sundry Considerations she
might down--but I will on--

[_She goes, he follows; both go out_.

SCENE IV. _A Chamber in the Apartments of L. _Fulbank.

_Enter_ Old Woman _followed by_ Gayman _in the dark_.

[_Soft Musick plays, she leaves him_.

_Gay_.--Hah, Musick--and Excellent!


_Oh! Love, that stronger art than Wine,
Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
Want to be prized above all Wealth,
Disease that has more Joys than Health;
Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
And of thy Tyranny complain,
We all are bettered by thy Reign.

What Reason never can bestow,
We to this useful Passion owe.
Love wakes the dull from sluggish Ease,
And learns a Clown the Art to please:
Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold.
'Tis he reforms the Sot from Drink,
And teaches airy Fops to think.

When full brute Appetite is fed,
And choak'd the Glutton lies, and dead;
Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.
Virtue's unconquerable Aid,
That against Nature can persuade;
And makes a roving Mind retire
Within the Bounds of just Desire.
Chearer of Age, Youth's kind Unrest,
And half the Heaven of the blest_.

_Gay_. Ah, _Julia, Julia!_ if this soft Preparation
Were but to bring me to thy dear Embraces;
What different Motions wou'd surround my Soul,
From what perplex it now.

_Enter Nymphs and Shepherds, and dance_.

[_Then two dance alone. All go out but_ Pert _and a Shepherd_.

--If these be Devils, they are obliging ones:
I did not care if I ventur'd on that last Female Fiend.

Man sings.

_Cease your Wonder, cease your Guess,
Whence arrives your happiness.
Cease your Wonder, cease your Pain,
Human Fancy is in vain_.


_'Tis enough, you once shall find,
Fortune may to Worth be kind_; [gives him Gold.
_And Love can leave off being blind_.

Pert sings.

_You, before you enter here
On this sacred Ring must swear_,
[Puts it on his Finger, holds his Hand.
_By the Figure which is round,
Your Passion constant and profound;
By the Adamantine Stone,
To be fixt to one alone:

By the Lustre, which is true,
Ne'er to break your sacred Vow.
Lastly, by the Gold that's try'd,
For Love all Dangers to abide_.

They all dance about him, while those same two sing.

Man. _Once about him let us move,
To confirm him true to Love_. [bis.

Pert. _Twice with mystick turning Feet,
Make him silent and discreet_. [bis.

Man. _Thrice about him let us tread,
To keep him ever young in Bed_. [bis.

Gives him another part.

Man. _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain;
Haste here, and sigh no more in vain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

Pert. _That God repents his former Slights,
And Fortune thus your Faith requites_.

Both. _Forget_ Aminta's _proud Disdain;
Then taste, and sigh no more in vain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain,
The Joy of Love without the Pain_.

[_Exeunt_ all Dancers. Looks on himself, and feels about him.

_Gay_. What the Devil can all this mean? If there be a Woman in the
Case--sure I have not liv'd so bad a Life, to gain the dull Reputation
of so modest a Coxcomb, but that a Female might down with me, without
all this Ceremony. Is it care of her Honour?--that cannot be--this Age
affords none so nice: Nor Fiend nor Goddess can she be, for these I saw
were Mortal. No--'tis a Woman--I am positive. Not young nor handsom, for
then Vanity had made her glory to have been seen. No--since 'tis
resolved, a Woman--she must be old and ugly, and will not balk my Fancy
with her sight, but baits me more with this essential Beauty.

_Well--be she young or old, Woman or Devil,
She pays, and I'll endeavour to be civil_.


SCENE V. _In the same House. The flat Scene of the Hall_.

_After a Knocking, enter_ Bredwel _in his masking Habit, with
his Vizard in the one Hand, and a Light in t'other, in haste_.

_Bred_. Hah, knocking so late at our Gate--
[_Opens the door_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble _drest, and arm'd Cap-a-pee, with a broad
Waste-Belt stuck round with Pistols, a Helmet, Scarf, Buff-coat
and half Pike_.

Sir _Feeb_. How now, how now, what's the matter here?

_Bred_. Matter, what, is my Lady's innocent Intrigue found out?--
Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage?

Sir _Feeb_. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir?

_Bred_. I have been dancing among some of my Friends.

Sir _Feeb_. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends.
Where's Sir _Cautious_, where's Sir _Cautious_?

_Bred_. Sir _Cautious_--Sir, in Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Call him, call him--quickly, good _Edward_.

_Bred_. Sure my Lady's Frolick is betray'd, and he comes to make
Mischief. However, I'll go and secure Mr. _Gayman_.
[_Exit_ Bredwel.

_Enter Sir_ Cautious _and_ Dick _his Boy with Light_.

_Dick_. Pray, Sir, go to Bed, here's no Thieves; all's still and well.

Sir _Cau_. This last Night's misfortune of mine, _Dick_, has kept me
waking, and methought all night, I heard a kind of a silent Noise. I am
still afraid of Thieves; mercy upon me, to lose five hundred Guineas at
one clap, _Dick_.--Hah--bless me! what's yonder? Blow the great Horn,
_Dick_--Thieves--Murder, Murder!

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what a Pox, are you mad? 'Tis I, 'tis I, man.

Sir _Cau_. I, who am I? Speak--declare--pronounce.

Sir _Feeb_. Your Friend, old _Feeble Fainwou'd_.

Sir _Cau_. How, Sir _Feeble_! At this late hour, and on his Wedding-Night
--why, what's the matter, Sir--is it Peace or War with you?

Sir _Feeb_. A Mistake, a Mistake, proceed to the business, good Brother,
for time you know is precious.

Sir _Cau_. Some strange Catastrophe has happened between him and his
Wife to Night, and makes him disturb me thus-- [_Aside_.
--Come, sit, good Brother, and to the business as you say--

[_They sit one at one end of the Table, the other at the other;
_Dick_ sets down the Light and goes out--both sit gaping and
staring, and expecting when either should speak_.

Sir _Feeb_. As soon as you please, Sir.
Lord, how wildly he stares! He's much disturb'd in's mind
--Well, Sir, let us be brief--

Sir _Cau_. As brief as you please, Sir--Well, Brother--
[_Pausing still_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. How strangely he stares and gapes--some deep concern.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--hum--

Sir _Cau_. I listen to you, advance--

Sir _Feeb_. Sir?

Sir _Cau_. A very distracted Countenance--pray Heaven he be not mad,
and a young Wife is able to make an old Fellow mad, that's the Truth
on't. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Sure 'tis something of his Lady--he's so loth to bring it out
--I am sorry you are thus disturb'd, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No disturbance to serve a Friend--

Sir _Feeb_. I think I am your Friend indeed, Sir _Cautious_, or I wou'd
not have been here upon my Wedding-Night.

Sir _Cau_. His Wedding-Night--there lies his Grief, poor Heart! Perhaps
she has cuckolded him already-- [_Aside_.
--Well, come, Brother--many such things are done--

Sir _Feeb_. Done--hum--come, out with it; Brother--what troubles you to

Sir _Cau_. Troubles me--why, knows he I am robb'd? [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. I may perhaps restore you to the Rest you've lost.

Sir _Cau_. The Rest; why, have I lost more since? Why, know you then who
did it?--Oh, how I'd be reveng'd upon the Rascal!

Sir _Feeb_. 'Tis--Jealousy, the old Worm that bites-- [_Aside_.
Who is it you suspect?

Sir _Cau_. Alas, I know not whom to suspect, I wou'd I did; but if you
cou'd discover him--I wou'd so swinge him--

Sir _Feeb_. I know him--what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know
him--there's your Watch again, Sir; I'm your Friend, but no Pimp,
[_Rises in Rage_.

Sir _Cau_. My Watch; I thank you, Sir--but why Pimp, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,--and I have a young Wife
to practise with. I know your Rogues.

Sir _Cau_. A young Wife!--'tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at
Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he's Horn-mad upon't. I suspected
her being so close in with his Nephew--in a Fit with a Pox--[_Aside_.]
Come, come, Sir _Feeble_, 'tis many an honest Man's Fortune.

Sir _Feeb_. I grant it, Sir--but to the business, Sir, I came for.

Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul--

[_They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak.
Enter_ Bredwel _and_ Gayman _at the door_. Bredwel _sees them,
and puts_ Gayman_ back again_.

_Bred_. Hah--Sir _Feeble_, and Sir _Cautious_ there--what shall I do?
For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou'd discover my Lady
to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest--retire, Sir, your Life depends
upon your being unseen. [_Go out_.

Sir _Feeb_. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this
my Wedding Night?

Sir _Cau_. Very good, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And that I long to be in bed?

Sir _Cau_. Very well, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir--why then what the Devil
do I make here, Sir? [_Rises in a rage_.

Sir _Cau_. Patience, Brother--and forward.

Sir _Feeb_. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let's feel your
Pulse; how has this Night gone with you?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--this is the oddest Quonudrum--sure he's mad--and
yet now I think on't, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep
again, till I have found the Villain that robb'd me. [_Weeps_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, now he weeps--far gone--this Laughing and Weeping is a
very bad sign! [_Aside_.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed.

Sir _Cau_. Mad, stark mad--no, now I'm up 'tis no matter--pray ease your
troubled Mind--I am your Friend--out with it--what, was it acted? or
but designed?

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Be not asham'd, I'm under the same Premunire I doubt, little
better than a--but let that pass.

Sir _Feeb_. Have you any Proof?

Sir _Cau_. Proof of what, good Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Of what! why, that you're a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if
you'll ha't.

Sir _Cau_. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say?

Sir _Feeb_. What I say?

Sir _Cau_. Ay, what you say, can you make this out?

Sir _Feeb_. I make it out!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir--if you say it, and cannot make it out, you're a--

Sir _Feeb_. What am I, Sir? What am I?

Sir _Cau_. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I'll sue you for
_Scandalum Magnatum_; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury.

Sir _Feeb_. I know of no such thing, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. No, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. No, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Then what wou'd you be at, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. I be at, Sir! what wou'd you be at, Sir?

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--why this is the strangest thing--to see an old
Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he's married, forsake
his Bride and Bed, and come arm'd Cap-a-pee, like _Gargantua_, to
disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all
to be-cuckold him here--in plain _English_, what's your Business?

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what the Devil's your Business, and you go to that?

Sir _Cau_. My Business, with whom?

Sir _Feeb_. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here?

Sir _Cau_. 'Tis that I wou'd be glad to know, Sir.

_Enter _Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Dick_, remember I've brought back your Master's
Watch; next time he sends for me o'er Night, I'll come to him in
the Morning.

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir--Ad, and
ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you'll go near to be
haunted with a Vision of Horns.

[_Exit_ Dick.

Sir _Feeb_. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife--Look ye, this was
the Message I receiv'd.
[_Tells him seemingly_.

_Enter_ Bredwel _to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost,
speaking to_ Gayman _who stands within_.

_Bred_. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be
taken in the Lady's Lodgings--I'll first adventure out to make you pass
the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir _Cautious_, whom I
shall fright into a Trance, I am sure.
And Sir _Feeble_, the Devil's in't if he know him. [_Aside_.

_Gay_. A brave kind Fellow this.

_Enter_ Bredwel _stalking on as a Ghost by them_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh--undone,--undone; help, help;--I'm dead, I'm dead.
[_Falls down on his Face; Sir_ Feeble _stares,--and stands still_.

_Bred_. As I could wish. [_Aside, turns_.
Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me.

_Enter_ Gayman _like a Ghost, with a Torch_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord, oh Lord!

_Gay_. Hah!--old Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd_--why, where the Devil am I?
--'Tis he:--and be it where it will, I'll fright the old Dotard for
cozening my Friend of his Mistress. [_Stalks on_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, guard me,--guard me--all ye Pow'rs! [_Trembling_.

_Gay_. Thou call'st in vain, fond Wretch--for I am _Bellmour_,

_Whom first thou robb'st of Fame and Life,
And then what dearer was,--his Wife_.

[_Goes out, shaking his Torch at him_.

Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord--oh Lord!

_Enter L_. Fulbank _in an undress, and_ Pert _undrest.

L. _Ful_. Heavens, what noise is this?--So he's got safe out I see--hah,
what thing art thou? [_Sees Sir _Feeble_ arm'd_.

Sir _Feeb_. Stay, Madam, stay--'tis I, a poor trembling Mortal.

L. _Ful_. Sir _Feeble Fainwou'd!_--rise,--are you both mad?

Sir _Cau_. No, no,--Madam, we have seen the Devil.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and he was as tall as the Monument.

Sir _Cau_. With Eyes like a Beacon--and a Mouth,--Heaven bless us, like
_London_ Bridge at a full Tide.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and roar'd as loud.

L. _Ful_. Idle Fancies, what makes you from your Bed? and you, Sir, from
your Bride?

_Enter_ Dick _with Sack_.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! that's the business of another day, a mistake only,

L. _Ful_. Away, I'm asham'd to see wise Men so weak; the Fantoms of the
Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest,
or perhaps _Bredwel_, your Man--who being wiser than his Master, play'd
you this Trick to fright you both to Bed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--adod, and that may be, for the young Knave when he let
me in to Night, was drest up for some Waggery--

Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, 'twas even so, sure enough, Brother--

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, but they frighted me at first basely--but I'll
home to Pupsey, there may be Roguery, as well as here--Madam, I ask your
Pardon, I see we're all mistaken.

L. _Ful_. Ay, Sir _Feeble_, go home to your Wife.

[_Ex. severally_.

SCENE VI. _The Street_.

_Enter_ Bellmour _at the door, knocks, and enter to him
from the House_, Phillis.

_Phil_. Oh, are you come, Sir? I'll call my Lady down.

_Bel_. Oh, haste, the Minutes fly--leave all behind.
And bring _Leticia_ only to my Arms.
[_A noise of People_.
--Hah, what noise is that? 'Tis coming this way,
I tremble with my fears--hah, Death and the Devil,
'Tis he--

_Enter Sir_ Feeble _and his Men arm'd, goes to the door, knocks_.

Ay, 'tis he, and I'm undone--what shall I do to kill him now? besides,
the Sin wou'd put me past all Hopes of pardoning.

Sir _Feeb_. A damn'd Rogue to deceive me thus.--

_Bel_. Hah--see, by Heaven _Leticia_, Oh, we are ruin'd!

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's here, two Women?--
[_Stands a little off_.

_Enter_ Leticia _and_ Phillis _softly, undrest, with a Box_.

_Let_. Where are you, my best Wishes? Lord of my Vows--and Charmer of my
Soul? Where are you?

_Bel_. Oh, Heavens!--
[_Draws his Sword half-way_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, who's here? My Gentlewoman--she's monstrous kind of the
sudden. But whom is't meant to? [_Aside_.

_Let_. Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All--Alas! where are you?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--no, no, this is not to me--I am jilted, cozen'd,
cuckolded, and so forth.--
[_Groping, she takes hold of Sir_ Feeb.

_Let_. Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence--here,
take these Jewels, and let us haste away.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a
Sham-Plot for this!--She cannot mean it to me. [_Aside_.

_Let_. Will you not speak?--will you not answer me?--do you repent
already?--before Enjoyment are you cold and false?

Sir _Feeb_. Hum, before Enjoyment--that must be me. Before Injoyment--
Ay, ay, 'tis I--I see a little Prolonging a Woman's Joy, sets an Edge
upon her Appetite. [_Merrily_.

_Let_. What means my Dear? shall we not haste away?

Sir _Feeb_. Haste away! there 'tis again--No--'tis not me she means:
what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?--Yes, yes, I am destin'd
a Cuckold--

_Let_. Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me?

Sir _Feeb_. Wife! adod, 'tis I she means--'tis I she means--[_Merrily_.

_Let_. Oh _Bellmour, Bellmour_.

[_Sir _Feeb_. starts back from her hands_.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--what's that--_Bellmour_!

_Let_. Hah! Sir _Feeble_!--he would not, Sir, have us'd me thus

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--I'm glad 'tis no worse--_Bellmour_, quoth a! I thought
the Ghost was come again.

_Phil_. Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while?--my Lady weeps with
your Unkindness.

Sir _Feeb_. I did but hold my peace, to hear how prettily she prattled
Love: But, fags, you are naught to think of a young Fellow--ads bobs,
you are now.

_Let_. I only say--he wou'd not have been so unkind to me.

Sir _Feeb_. But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels?

_Phil_. Alas, Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and packt up our
things to secure 'em, if there had been a necessity for Flight. For
had they come to plundering once, they wou'd have begun with the rich
Aldermen's Wives, you know, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Ads bobs, and so they would--but there was no Arms, nor
Mutiny--where's _Francis_?

_Bel_. Here, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, Sir--why, what a story you made of a Meeting in the
Hall, and--Arms, and--a--the Devil of any thing was stirring, but a
couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and waiting for one another's

_Bel_. Such a Message was brought me, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Brought! thou'rt an Ass, _Francis_--but no more--come, come,
let's to bed--

_Let_. To Bed, Sir! what, by Day-light?--for that's hasting on--I wou'd
not for the World--the Night wou'd hide my Blushes--but the Day--wou'd
let me see my self in your Embraces.

Sir _Feeb_. Embraces, in a Fiddlestick; why, are we not married?

_Let_. 'Tis true, Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but
yet my Virgin Modesty forbids it. I'll to _Diana's_ Chamber, the Night
will come again.

Sir _Feeb_. For once you shall prevail; and this damn'd Jant has pretty
well mortified me:--a Pox of your Mutiny, _Francis_.--Come, I'll conduct
thee to _Diana_, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe, Rogue.--

_We'll give young Wenches leave to whine and blush,
And fly those Blessings which--ads bobs, they wish_.



SCENE I. _Sir _Feeble's_ House_.

_Enter Lady_ Fulbank, Gayman _fine, gently pulling her back
by the hand; and_ Ralph _meets 'em_.

L. _Ful_. How now, _Ralph_--Let your Lady know I am come to wait on her.

[_Exit _Ralph.

_Gay_. Oh, why this needless Visit--
Your Husband's safe, at least till Evening safe.
Why will you not go back,
And give me one soft hour, though to torment me?

L. _Ful_. You are at leisure now, I thank you, Sir.
Last Night when I with all Love's Rhetorick pleaded,
And Heaven knows what last Night might have produced,
You were engag'd! False Man, I do believe it,
And I am satisfied you love me not.
[_Walks away in scorn_.

_Gay_. Not love you!
Why do I waste my Youth in vain pursuit,
Neglecting Interest, and despising Power?
Unheeding and despising other Beauties.
Why at your feet are all my Fortunes laid,
And why does all my Fate depend on you?

L. _Ful_. I'll not consider why you play the Fool,
Present me Rings and Bracelets; why pursue me;
Why watch whole Nights before my senseless Door,
And take such Pains to shew your self a Coxcomb.

_Gay_. Oh! why all this?
By all the Powers above, by this dear Hand,
And by this Ring, which on this Hand I place,
On which I've sworn Fidelity to Love;
I never had a Wish or soft Desire
To any other Woman,
Since _Julia_ sway'd the Empire of my Soul.

L. _Ful_. Hah, my own Ring I gave him last night. [_Aside_.
--Your Jewel, Sir, is rich:
Why do you part with things of so much value,
So easily, and so frequently?

_Gay_. To strengthen the weak Arguments of Love.

L. _Ful_. And leave your self undone?

_Gay_. Impossible, if I am blest with _Julia_.

L. _Ful_. Love's a thin Diet, nor will keep out Cold.
You cannot satisfy your Dunning Taylor,
To cry--I am in Love!
Though possible you may your Seamstress.

_Gay_. Does ought about me speak such Poverty?

L. _Ful_. I am sorry that it does not, since to maintain
This Gallantry, 'tis said you use base means,
Below a Gentleman.

_Gay_. Who dares but to imagine it's a Rascal,
A Slave, below a beating--what means my _Julia_?

L. _Ful_. No more dissembling, I know your Land is gone
--I know each Circumstance of all your Wants;
Therefore--as e'er you hope that I should love you ever--
Tell me--where 'twas you got this Jewel, Sir.

_Gay_. Hah--I hope 'tis no stol'n Goods; [_Aside_.
Why on the sudden all this nice examining?

L. _Ful_. You trifle with me, and I'll plead no more.

_Gay_. Stay--why--I bought it, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Where had you Money, Sir? You see I am
No Stranger to your Poverty.

_Gay_. This is strange--perhaps it is a secret.

L. _Ful_. So is my Love, which shall be kept from you.
[_Offers to go_.

_Gay_. Stay, _Julia_--your Will shall be obey'd, [_Sighing_.
Though I had rather die than be obedient,
Because I know you'll hate me when 'tis told.

L. _Ful_. By all my Vows, let it be what it will,
It ne'er shall alter me from loving you.

_Gay_. I have--of late--been tempted--
With Presents, Jewels, and large Sums of Gold.

L. _Ful_. Tempted! by whom?

_Gay_. The Devil, for ought I know.

L. _Ful_. Defend me, Heaven! the Devil?
I hope you have not made a Contract with him.

_Gay_. No, though in the Shape of Woman it appear'd.

L. _Ful_. Where met you with it?

_Gay_. By Magick Art I was conducted--I know not how,
To an inchanted Palace in the Clouds,
Where I was so attended--
Young dancing, singing Fiends innumerable.

L. _Ful_. Imagination all!

_Gay_. But for the amorous Devil, the old _Proserpine_.--

L. _Ful_. Ay, she--what said she?--

_Gay_. Not a word: Heaven be prais'd, she was a silent Devil--but she
was laid in a Pavilion, all form'd of gilded Clouds, which hung by
Geometry, whither I was conveyed, after much Ceremony, and laid in Bed
with her; where with much ado, and trembling with my Fears--I forc'd my
Arms about her.

L. _Ful_. And sure that undeceiv'd him. [_Aside_.

_Gay_. But such a Carcase 'twas--deliver me--so rivell'd, lean and
rough--a Canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

L. _Ful_. Now though I know that nothing is more distant than I from
such a Monster--yet this angers me. Death! cou'd you love me and submit
to this?

_Gay_. 'Twas that first drew me in--
The tempting Hope of Means to conquer you,
Wou'd put me upon any dangerous Enterprize:
Were I the Lord of all the Universe,
I am so lost in Love,
For one dear Night to clasp you in my Arms,
I'd lavish all that World--then die with Joy.

L. _Ful_. 'Slife, after all to seem deform'd, old, ugly--
[_Walking in a fret_.

_Gay_. I knew you would be angry when you heard it.
[_He pursues her in a submissive posture_.

_Enter Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey _and_ Bredwel.

Sir _Cau_. How, what's here?--my Lady with the Spark that courted her
last Night?--hum--with her again so soon?--Well, this Impudence and
Importunity undoes more City-Wives than all their unmerciful Finery.

_Gay_. But, Madam--

L. _Ful_. Oh, here's my Husband--you'd best tell him your Story--what
makes him here so soon?-- [_Angry_.

Sir _Cau_. Me his Story! I hope he will not tell me he'as a mind to
cuckold me.

_Gay_. A Devil on him, what shall I say to him?

L. _Ful_. What, so excellent at Intrigues, and so dull at an Excuse?

_Gay_. Yes, Madam, I shall tell him--

_Enter _Bellmour.

L. _Ful_.--Is my Lady at leisure for a Visit, Sir?

_Bel_. Always to receive your Ladyship.

[_She goes out_.

Sir _Cau_. With me, Sir, wou'd you speak?

_Gay_. With you, Sir, if your name be _Fulbank_.

Sir _Cau_. Plain _Fulbank_! methinks you might have had a Sirreverence,
under your Girdle, Sir; I am honoured with another Title, Sir--
[_Goes talking to the rest_.

_Gay_. With many, Sir, that very well become you--
[_Pulls him a little aside_.
I've something to deliver to your Ear.

Sir _Cau_. So, I'll be hang'd if he do not tell me, I'm a Cuckold now: I
see it in his Eyes. My Ear, Sir! I'd have you to know I scorn any man's
secrets, Sir;--for ought I know you may whisper Treason to me, Sir.
Pox on him, how handsom he is, I hate the sight of the young Stallion.

_Gay_. I wou'd not be so uncivil, Sir, before all this Company.

Sir _Cau_. Uncivil! Ay, ay, 'tis so, he cannot be content to cuckold,
but he must tell me so too.

_Gay_. But since you will have it, Sir--you are--a Rascal--a most
notorious Villain, Sir, d'ye hear--

Sir _Cau_. Yes, yes, I do hear--and am glad 'tis no worse. [_Laughing_.

_Gay_. Griping as Hell--and as insatiable--worse than a Brokering Jew,
not all the Twelve Tribes harbour such a damn'd Extortioner.

Sir _Cau_. Pray, under favour, Sir, who are you?
[_Pulling off his Hat_.

_Gay_. One whom thou hast undone--

Sir _Cau_. Hum--I'm glad of that however. [_Aside smiling_.

_Gay_. Racking me up to a starving Want and Misery,
Then took advantages to ruin me.

Sir _Cau_. So, and he'd revenge it on my Wife-- [_Aside smiling_.

_Gay_. Do not you know one _Wasteall_, Sir?

_Enter_ Ralph _with Wine, sets it on a Table_.

Sir _Cau_. _Wasteall_--ha, ha, ha,--if you are any Friend to that poor
Fellow--you may return and tell him, Sir--d'ye hear--that the Mortgage
of two hundred pound a Year is this day out, and I'll not bait him an
hour, Sir--ha, ha, ha,--what, do you think to hector civil Magistrates?

_Gay_. Very well, Sir, and is this your Conscience?

Sir _Cau_. Conscience! what do you tell me of Conscience? Why, what a
noise is here--as if the undoing a young Heir were such a Wonder; ods so
I've undone a hundred without, half this ado.

_Gay_. I do believe thee--and am come to tell you--I'll be none of that
Number--for this Minute I'll go and redeem it--and free myself from the
Hell of your Indentures.

Sir _Cau_. How, redeem it! sure the Devil must help him then.--Stay,
Sir--stay--Lord, Sir, what need you put your self to that trouble? your
Land is in safe hands, Sir; come, come, sit down--and let us take a
Glass of Wine together, Sir--

_Bel_. Sir, my service to you. [_Drinks to him_.

_Gay_. Your Servant, Sir. Wou'd I cou'd come to speak to _Bellmour_,
which I dare not do in publick, lest I betray him. I long to be resolv'd
where 'twas Sir _Feeble_ was last night--if it were he--by which I might
find out my invisible Mistress.

_Noi_. Noble Mr. _Wasteall_--
[_Salutes him, so does_ Bearjest.

_Bel_. Will you please to sit, Sir?

_Gay_. I have a little business, Sir--but anon I'll wait on you--your
Servant, Gentlemen--I'll to _Crap_ the Scrivener's.
[_Goes out_.

Sir _Cau_. Do you know this _Wasteall_, Sir?-- [_To_ Noisey.

_Noi_. Know him, Sir! ay, too well--

_Bea_. The World's well amended with him, Captain, since I lost my Money
to him and you at the _George_ in _White-Fryers_.

_Noi_. Ay, poor Fellow--he's sometimes up, and sometimes down, as the
Dice favour him--

_Bea_. Faith, and that's pity; but how came he so fine o'th' sudden?
'Twas but last week he borrowed eighteen pence of me on his Waste-Belt
to pay his Dinner in an Ordinary.

_Bel_. Were you so cruel, Sir, to take it?

_Noi_. We are not all one Man's Children; faith, Sir, we are here to
Day, and gone to Morrow--

Sir _Cau_. I say 'twas done like a wise Man, Sir; but under favour,
Gentlemen, this _Wasteall_ is a Rascal--

_Noi_. A very Rascal, Sir, and a most dangerous Fellow--he cullies in
your Prentices and Cashiers to play--which ruins so many o'th' young
Fry i'th' City--

Sir _Cau_. Hum--does he so--d'ye hear that, _Edward_?

_Noi_. Then he keeps a private Press, and prints your _Amsterdam_ and
_Leyden_ Libels.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, and makes 'em too, I'll warrant him; a dangerous Fellow--

_Noi_. Sometimes he begs for a lame Soldier with a wooden Leg.

_Bea_. Sometimes as a blind Man, sells Switches in _New-Market_ Road.

_Noi_. At other times he runs the Country like a Gipsey--tells Fortunes
and robs Hedges, when he's out of Linen.

Sir _Cau_. Tells Fortunes too!--nay, I thought he dealt with the Devil
--Well, Gentlemen, you are all wide o' this Matter--for to tell you
the Truth--he deals with the Devil, Gentlemen
--otherwise he could never have redeem'd his Land. [Aside.

_Bel_. How, Sir, the Devil!

Sir _Cau_. I say the Devil; Heaven bless every wise Man from the Devil.

_Bea_. The Devil, sha! there's no such Animal in Nature; I rather think
he pads.

_Noi_. Oh, Sir, he has not Courage for that--but he's an admirable
Fellow at your Lock.

Sir _Cau_. Lock! My Study-Lock was pickt--I begin to suspect him--

_Bea_. I saw him once open a Lock with the Bone of a Breast of Mutton,
and break an Iron Bar asunder with the Eye of a Needle.

Sir _Cau_. Prodigious!--well, I say the Devil still.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble.

Sir _Feeb_. Who's this talks of the Devil?--a Pox of the Devil, I say,
this last night's Devil has so haunted me--

Sir _Cau_. Why, have you seen it since, Brother?

Sir _Feeb_. In Imagination, Sir.

_Bel_. How, Sir, a Devil?

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, or a Ghost.

_Bel_. Where, good Sir?

_Bea_. Ay, where? I'd travel a hundred Mile to see a Ghost--

_Bel_. Sure, Sir, 'twas Fancy.

Sir _Feeb_. If 'twere a Fancy, 'twas a strong one; and Ghosts and Fancy
are all one if they can deceive. I tell you--if ever I thought in my
Life--I thought I saw a Ghost--Ay, and a damnable impudent Ghost too; he
said he was a--a Fellow here--they call _Bellmour_.

_Bel_. How, Sir!

_Bea_. Well, I wou'd give the world to see the Devil, provided he were a
civil affable Devil, such an one as _Wasteall's_ Acquaintance is--

Sir _Cau_. He can show him too soon, it may be. I'm sure as civil as he
is, he helps him to steal my Gold, I doubt--and to be sure--Gentlemen,
you say he's a Gamester--I desire when he comes anon, that you wou'd
propose to sport a Dye, or so--and we'll fall to play for a Teaster, or
the like--and if he sets any money, I shall go near to know my own Gold,
by some remarkable Pieces amongst it; and if he have it, I'll hang him,
and then all his six hundred a Year will be my own, which I have
in Mortgage.

_Bea_. Let the Captain and I alone to top upon him--mean time, Sir, I
have brought my Musick, to entertain my Mistress with a Song.

Sir _Feeb_. Take your own methods, Sir--they are at leisure--while we go
drink their Healths within. Adod, I long for night, we are not half in
kelter, this damn'd Ghost will not out of my Head yet.

[_Exeunt all but_ Bellmour.

_Bel_. Hah--a Ghost! what can he mean? A Ghost, and _Bellmour's_!
--Sure my good Angel, or my Genius,
In pity of my Love, and of _Leticia_--
But see _Leticia_ comes, but still attended--

_Enter_ Leticia, _Lady_ Fulbank, Diana.

--Remember--oh, remember to be true?
[Aside to her, passing by goes out.

L. _Ful_. I was sick to know with what Christian Patience you bore the
Martyrdom of this Night.

_Let_. As those condemn'd bear the last Hour of Life. A short Reprieve I
had--and by a kind Mistake, _Diana_ only was my Bedfellow-- [_Weeps_.

_Dia_. And I wish for your Repose you ne'er had seen my Father.

_Let_. And so do I, I fear he has undone me--

_Dia_. And me, in breaking of his word with _Bredwel_--

L. _Ful_.--So--as _Trincolo_ says, wou'd you were both hang'd for me,
for putting me in mind of my Husband. For I have e'en no better luck
than either of you--Let our two Fates warn your approaching one: I
love young _Bredwel_ and must plead for him.

_Dia_. I know his Virtue justifies my Choice:
But Pride and Modesty forbids I shou'd unlov'd pursue him.

_Let_. Wrong not my Brother so, who dies for you--

_Dia_. Cou'd he so easily see me given away,
Without a Sigh at parting?
For all the day a Calm was in his Eyes,
And unconcern'd he look'd and talk'd to me;
In dancing never prest my willing Hand,
Nor with a scornful Glance reproach'd my Falshood.

_Let_. Believe me, that Dissembling was his Master-piece.

_Dia_. Why should he fear, did not my Father promise him?

_Let_. Ay, that was in his wooing time to me:
But now 'tis all forgotten--
[_Musick at the door_.

_After which enter_ Bearjest _and_ Bredwel.

L. _Ful_. How now, Cousin! Is this high piece of Gallantry from you?

_Bea_. Ay, Madam, I have not travel'd for nothing--

L. _Ful_. I find my Cousin is resolv'd to conquer, he assails with all
his Artillery of Charms; we'll leave him to his success, Madam.--

[_Ex_. Leticia _and L_. Fulbank.

_Bea_. Oh Lord, Madam, you oblige me--look, _Ned_, you had a mind to
have a full view of my Mistress, Sir, and--here she is.
[_He stands gazing_.
Go, salute her--look how he stands now; what a sneaking thing is a
Fellow who has never travel'd and seen the World!--Madam--this is a very
honest Friend of mine, for all he looks so simply.

_Dia_. Come, he speaks for you, Sir.

_Bea_. He, Madam! though he be but a Banker's Prentice, Madam, he's as
pretty a Fellow of his Inches as any i'th' City--he has made love in
Dancing-Schools, and to Ladies of Quality in the middle Gallery, and
shall joke ye--and repartee with any Fore-man within the Walls--prithee
to her--and commend me, I'll give thee a new Point Crevat.

_Dia_. He looks as if he cou'd not speak to me.

_Bea_. Not speak to you! yes, Gad, Madam, and do any thing to you too.

_Dia_. Are you his Advocate, Sir? [_In scorn_.

_Bea_. For want of a better--
[_Stands behind him, pushing him on_.

_Bred_. An Advocate for Love I am,
And bring you such a Message from a Heart--

_Bea_. Meaning mine, dear Madam.

_Bred_. That when you hear it, you will pity it.

_Bea_. Or the Devil's in her--

_Dia_. Sir, I have many Reasons to believe,
It is my Fortune you pursue, not Person.

_Bea_. There is something in that, I must confess. [_Behind him_.
But say what you will, _Ned_.

_Bred_. May all the Mischiefs of despairing Love Fall on me if it be.

_Bea_. That's well enough--

_Bred_. No, were you born an humble Village-Maid,
That fed a Flock upon the neighbouring Plain;
With all that shining Vertue in your Soul,
By Heaven, I wou'd adore you--love you--wed you--
Though the gay World were lost by such a Nuptial.
[Bear. _looks on him_.
--This--I wou'd do, were I my Friend the Squire

_Bea_. Ay, if you were me--you might do what you pleas'd; but I'm of
another mind.

_Dia_. Shou'd I consent, my Father is a Man whom Interest sways, not
Honour; and whatsoever Promises he 'as made you, he means to break 'em
all, and I am destin'd to another.

_Bea_. How, another--his Name, his Name, Madam--here's _Ned_ and I fear
ne'er a single Man i'th' Nation, What is he--what is he?--

_Dia_. A Fop, a Fool, a beaten Ass--a Blockhead.

_Bea_. What a damn'd Shame's this, that Women shou'd be sacrificed to
Fools, and Fops must run away with Heiresses--whilst we Men of Wit and
Parts dress and dance, and cock and travel for nothing but to be tame

_Dia_. But I, by Heaven, will never be that Victim: But where my Soul is
vow'd, 'tis fix'd for ever.

_Bred_. Are you resolv'd, are you confirm'd in this? Oh my _Diana_,
speak it o'er again. [_Runs to her, and embraces her_.
Bless me, and make me happier than a Monarch.

_Bea_. Hold, hold, dear _Ned_--that's my part, I take it.

_Bred_. Your Pardon, Sir, I had forgot my self.
--But time is short--what's to be done in this?

_Bea_. Done! I'll enter the House with Fire and Sword, d'ye see, not
that I care this--but I'll not be fob'd off--what, do they take me for
a Fool--an Ass?

_Bred_. Madam, dare you run the risk of your Father's Displeasure, and
run away with the Man you love?

_Dia_. With all my Soul--

_Bea_. That's hearty--and we'll do it--_Ned_ and I here--and I love an
Amour with an Adventure in't like _Amadis de Gaul_--Harkye, _Ned_, get a
Coach and six ready to night when 'tis dark, at the back Gate--

_Bred_. And I'll get a Parson ready in my Lodging, to which I have a Key
through the Garden, by which we may pass unseen.

_Bea_. Good--Mun, here's Company--

_Enter_ Gayman _with his Hat and Money in't, Sir_ Cautious
_in a rage, Sir_ Feeble, _Lady_ Fulbank, Leticia, _Captain_
Noisey, Bellmour.

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound lost already! Oh Coxcomb, old Coxcomb, and
a wise Coxcomb--to turn Prodigal at my Years, why, I was bewitcht!

Sir _Feeb_. Shaw, 'twas a Frolick, Sir, I have lost a hundred Pound as
well as you. My Lady has lost, and your Lady has lost, and the rest--
what, old Cows will kick sometimes, what's a hundred Pound?

Sir _Cau_. A hundred Pound! why, 'tis a sum, Sir--a sum--why, what the
Devil did I do with a Box and Dice!

L. _Ful_. Why, you made a shift to lose, Sir? And where's the harm of
that? We have lost, and he has won; anon it may be your Fortune.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, but he could never do it fairly, that's certain. Three
hundred Pound! why, how came you to win so unmercifully, Sir?

_Gay_. Oh, the Devil will not lose a Gamester of me, you see, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. The Devil!--mark that, Gentlemen--

_Bea_. The Rogue has damn'd luck sure, he has got a Fly--

Sir _Cau_. And can you have the Conscience to carry away all our Money,

_Gay_. Most assuredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll
set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen?

Sir _Feeb_. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way,
and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will
require all an old Man's stock.

L. _Ful_. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. _Bredwel_.

_Gay_. Well, if no body dare venture on me, I'll send away my Cash--

[_They all go to play at the Table, but Sir_ Cau.
_Sir_ Feeb. _and_ Gay.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--must it all go?--a rare sum, if a Man were but sure the
Devil wou'd but stand Neuter now-- [Aside.
--Sir, I wish I had any thing but ready Money to stake: three hundred
Pound--a fine Sum!

_Gay_. You have Moveables, Sir, Goods--Commodities--

Sir _Cau_. That's all one, Sir; that's Money's worth, Sir: but if I had
any thing that were worth nothing--

_Gay_. You wou'd venture it,--I thank you, Sir,--I wou'd your Lady were
worth nothing--

Sir _Cau_. Why, so, Sir?

_Gay_. Then I wou'd set all this against that Nothing.

Sir _Cau_. What, set it against my Wife?

_Gay_. Wife, Sir! ay, your Wife--

Sir _Cau_. Hum, my Wife against three hundred Pounds! What, all my Wife,

_Gay_. All your Wife! Why, Sir, some part of her wou'd serve my turn.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Wife--why, if I shou'd lose, he cou'd not have the
Impudence to take her. [Aside.

_Gay_. Well, I find you are not for the Bargain, and so I put up--

Sir _Cau_. Hold, Sir--why so hasty--my Wife? no--put up your Money,
Sir--what, lose my Wife for three hundred Pounds!--

_Gay_. Lose her, Sir!--why, she shall be never the worse for my wearing,
Sir--the old covetous Rogue is considering on't, I think--What say you
to a Night? I'll set it to a Night--there's none need know it, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Hum--a Night!--three hundred Pounds for a Night! why, what a
lavish Whore-master's this! We take Money to marry our Wives, but very
seldom part with 'em, and by the Bargain get Money--For a Night, say
you?--Gad, if I shou'd take the Rogue at his word, 'twou'd be a pure
Jest. [Aside.

Sir _Feeb_. You are not mad, Brother.

Sir _Cau_. No, but I'm wise--and that's as good; let me consider.--

Sir _Feeb_. What, whether you shall be a Cuckold or not?

Sir _Cau_. Or lose three hundred Pounds--consider that. A Cuckold!--why,
'tis a word--an empty sound--'tis Breath--'tis Air--'tis nothing:--but
three hundred Pounds--Lord, what will not three hundred Pounds do? You
may chance to be a Cuckold for nothing, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. It may be so--but she shall do't discretly then.

Sir _Cau_. Under favour, you're an Ass, Brother; this is the discreetest
way of doing it, I take it.

Sir _Feeb_. But wou'd a wise man expose his Wife?

Sir _Cau_. Why, _Cato_ was a wiser Man than I, and he lent his Wife to a
young Fellow they call'd _Hortensius_, as Story says; and can a wise Man
have a better Precedent than _Cato_?

Sir _Feeb_. I say, _Cato_ was an Ass, Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of
'em all.

Sir _Cau_. But I am of _Cato's_ mind. Well, a single Night you say.

_Gay_. A single Night--to have--to hold--possess--and so forth, at

Sir _Cau_. A Night--I shall have her safe and sound i'th' Morning.

Sir _Feeb_. Safe, no doubt on't--but how sound.--

_Gay_. And for Non-performance, you shall pay me three hundred Pounds,
I'll forfeit as much if I tell--

Sir _Cau_. Tell?--why, make your three hundred pounds six hundred, and
let it be put into the _Gazet_, if you will, Man.--But it's a Bargain?

_Gay_. Done--Sir Feeble shall be witness--and there stands my Hat.

[_Puts down his Hat of Money, and each of em take a Box and Dice,
and kneel on the Stage, the rest come about 'em_.

Sir _Cau_. He that comes first to One and thirty wins--

[_They throw and count_.

L. _Ful_. What are you playing for?

Sir _Feeb_. Nothing, nothing--but a Trial of Skill between an old Man
and a Young--and your Ladyship is to be Judge.

L. _Ful_. I shall be partial, Sir.

Sir _Cau_. Six and five's Eleven--
[_Throws, and pulls the Hat towards him_.

_Gay_. Cater Tray--Pox of the Dice--

Sir _Cau_. Two fives--one and twenty--
[_Sets up, pulls the Hat nearer_.

_Gay_. Now, Luck--Doublets of sixes--nineteen.

Sir _Cau_. Five and four--thirty--
[_Draws the Hat to him_.

Sir _Feeb_. Now if he wins it, I'll swear he has a Fly indeed--'tis
impossible without Doublets of sixes--

_Gay_, Now Fortune smile--and for the future frown. [_Throws_.

Sir _Cau_.--Hum--two sixes--
[_Rises and looks dolefully round_.

L. _Ful_. How now? what's the matter you look so like an Ass, what have
you lost?

Sir _Cau_. A Bauble--a Bauble--'tis not for what I've lost--but because
I have not won--

Sir _Feeb_. You look very simple, Sir--what think you of _Cato_ now?

Sir _Cau_. A wise Man may have his failings--

L. _Ful_. What has my Husband lost?--

Sir _Cau_. Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands,

_Gay_. But I shall improve 'em, Madam, I'll warrant you.

L. _Ful_. Well, since 'tis no worse, bring in your fine Dancer,
Cousin, you say you brought to entertain your Mistress with.

[Bearjest _goes out_.

_Gay_. Sir, you'll take care to see me paid to Night?

Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir--but my Lady, you must know, Sir, has the common
frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if
persuaded to't by me.

_Gay_. 'Tis not in my Bargain to sollicit her, Sir, you are to procure
her--or three hundred pounds, Sir; chuse you whether.

Sir _Cau_. Procure her! with all my soul, Sir; alas, you mistake my
honest meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed
together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part--In
order to this, Sir--get but your self conveyed in a Chest to my house,
with a Direction upon't for me; and for the rest--

_Gay_. I understand you.

Sir _Feeb_. _Ralph_, get supper ready.

_Enter_ Bea. _with Dancers; all go out but Sir_ Cautious.

Sir _Cau_. Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady--but if
she shou'd be refractory now--and make me pay Three hundred Pounds--why,
sure she won't have so little Grace--Three hundred Pounds sav'd, is
three hundred pounds got--by our account--Cou'd All--

_Who of this City-Privilege are free,
Hope to be paid for Cuckoldom like me;
Th'unthriving Merchant, whom gray Hair adorns,
Before all Ventures wou'd ensure his Horns;
For thus, while he but lets spare Rooms to hire,
His Wife's cracked Credit keeps his own entire_.



SCENE I. _Sir_ Cautious _his House_.

_Enter_ Bellmour _alone, sad_.

_Bel_. The Night is come, oh my _Leticia_!
The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed;
Whilst she with all the languishment of Love,
And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me,
Which silently implore, I would deliver her.
But how! ay, there's the Question--hah-- [_Pausing_.
I'll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber--
And something I will do--may serve us yet--
If all my Arts should fail--I'll have recourse [_Draws a dagger_.
To this--and bear _Leticia_ off by force.
--But see she comes--

_Enter Lady_ Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious, _Sir_ Feeble,
Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. _Exit_ Bellmour.

Sir _Feeb_. Lights there, _Ralph_.
And my Lady's Coach there--

[Bearjest _goes to_ Gayman.

_Bea_. Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical
Request, in shewing me the Devil--

_Gay_. I will not fail you, Sir.

L. _Ful_. Madam, your Servant; I hope you'll see no more Ghosts, Sir

Sir _Feeb_. No more of that, I beseech you, Madam:
Prithee, Sir _Cautious_, take away your Wife--Madam, your Servant--
[_All go out after the Light_.
--Come, _Lette, Lette_; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away,
here be the young Wenches coming--
[_Puts her out, he goes out_.

_Enter_ Diana, _puts on her Hood and Scarf_.

_Dia_. So--they are gone to Bed; and now for _Bredwel_
--the Coach waits, and I'll take this opportunity.

_Father, farewell--if you dislike my course,
Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force_.

[_Goes out_.

SCENE II. _A Bed-chamber_.

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _and_ Phillis.

_Let_. Ah, _Phillis_! I am fainting with my Fears,
Hast thou no comfort for me?

[_He undresses to his Gown_.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, what art doing there--fiddle fadling--adod, you young
Wenches are so loth to come to--but when your hand's in, you have no
mercy upon us poor Husbands.

_Let_. Why do you talk so, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Was it anger'd at the Fool's Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me,
I'll undress it, effags, I will--Roguy.

_Let_. You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush--I will not go to bed,
unless you'll promise me--

Sir _Feeb_. No bargaining, my little Hussey--what, you'll tie my hands
behind me, will you?
[_She goes to the Table_.

_Let_.--What shall I do?--assist me, gentle Maid,
Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope.

_Phil_. Take Courage, Madam--you guess right--be confident.

Sir _Feeb_. No whispering, Gentlewoman--and putting Tricks into her
head; that shall not cheat me of another Night--Look on that silly
little round Chitty-face--look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes
there--look--look how they laugh, twire, and tempt--he, Rogue--I'll
buss 'em there, and here, and every where--ods bods--away, this is
fooling and spoiling of a Man's Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit
there--to Bed--to Bed--

[_As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder,
and sees her Face in the Glass_.

_Let_. Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers,
which are that Heaven wou'd deliver me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Say thy Prayers!--What, art thou mad! Prayers upon thy
Wedding-night! a short Thanksgiving or so--but Prayers quoth a--'Sbobs,
you'll have time enough for that, I doubt--

_Le_. I am asham'd to undress before you, Sir; go to Bed--

Sir _Feeb_. What, was it asham'd to shew its little white Foots, and its
little round Bubbies--well, I'll go, I'll go--I cannot think on't, no I

[_Going towards the Bed_, Bellmour _comes forth from between
the Curtains, his Coat off, his Shirt bloody, a Dagger in his
hand, and his Disguise off_.

_Bel_. Stand--

Sir _Feeb_. Ah--

_Let_. and _Phil_. [_squeak_]--Oh, Heavens!
--why, is it _Bellmour_? [_Aside to_ Phil.

_Bel_. Go not to Bed, I guard this sacred Place,
And the Adulterer dies that enters here.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh--why do I shake?--sure I'm a Man, what art thou?

_Bel_. I am the wrong'd, the lost and murder'd _Bellmour_.

Sir _Feeb_. O Lord! it is the same I saw last night--Oh!--hold thy
dread Vengeance--pity me, and hear me--Oh! a Parson--a Parson--what
shall I do--Oh! where shall I hide my self?

_Bel_. I'th' utmost Borders of the Earth I'll find thee--
Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee:
Even in the depth of Hell I'll find thee out,
And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh! I am dead, I'm dead; will no Repentence save me? 'twas
that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh!--

_Bel_. See, fair Seducer, what thou'st made me do;
Look on this bleeding Wound, it reach'd my Heart,
To pluck my dear tormenting Image thence,
When News arriv'd that thou hadst broke thy Vow.

Sir _Feeb_. Oh Lord! oh! I'm glad he's dead though.

_Let_. Oh, hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight
so horrid! [_Seems to Weep_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, she'll clear her self, and leave me in the Devil's

_Bel_. You've both offended Heaven, and must repent or die.

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_.

_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_.


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.


--Let me see--I have got no ready stuff to banter with--but no matter,
any Gibberish will serve the Fools--'tis now about the hour of Ten--but
Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul
could wish, shall be resign'd to me.

_Enter_ Bredwel.

--Hah! who's there? _Bredwel_?

_Bred_. Oh, are you come, Sir--and can you be so kind to a poor Youth,
to favour his Designs, and bless his Days?

_Gay_. Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your
Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abusing me behind
my Back so basely.

_Bred_. 'Twas most unmanly, Sir, and they deserve it--I wonder that they
come not.

_Gay_. How durst you trust her with him?

_Bred_. Because 'tis dangerous to steal a City-Heiress, and let the
Theft be his--so the dear Maid be mine--Hark--sure they come--

_Enter_ Bearjest, _runs against_ Bredwel.

--Who's there? Mr. _Bearjest_?

_Bea_. Who's that? _Ned_? Well, I have brought my Mistress, hast thou
got a Parson ready, and a License?

_Bred_. Ay, ay, but where's the Lady?

_Bea_. In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came before, to see
if the Coast be clear.

_Bred_. Ay, Sir; but what shall we do? here's Mr. _Gayman_ come on
purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir'd.

_Bea_. Sho! a Pox of the Devil, Man--I can't attend to speak with
him now.

_Gay_. How, Sir! D'ye think my Devil of so little Quality, to suffer an
Affront unrevenged?

_Bea_. Sir, I cry his Devilship's Pardon: I did not know his Quality. I
protest, Sir, I love and honour him, but I am now just going to be
married, Sir; and when that Ceremony's past, I'm ready to go to the
Devil as soon as you please.

_Gay_. I have told him your Desire of seeing him, and shou'd you baffle

_Bea_. Who, I, Sir! Pray, let his Worship know, I shall be proud of the
Honour of his Acquaintance; but, Sir, my Mistress and the Parson wait in
_Ned's_ Chamber.

_Gay_. If all the World wait, Sir, the Prince of Hell will stay for no

_Bred_. Oh, Sir, rather than the Prince of the Infernals shall be
affronted, I'll conduct the Lady up, and entertain her till you
come, Sir.

_Bea_. Nay, I have a great mind to kiss his--Paw, Sir; but I cou'd wish
you'd shew him me by day-light, Sir.

_Gay_. The Prince of Darkness does abhor the Light. But, Sir, I will for
once allow your Friend the Captain to keep you company.

_Enter_ Noisey _and_ Diana.

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