Bel. Sure ‘tis the day that gleams in yonder East, The day that all but Lovers blest by Shade Pay chearful Homage to: Lovers! and those pursu’d like guilty me By rigid Laws, which put no difference ’.wixt fairly killing in my own Defence, And Murders bred by drunken Arguments, Whores, or the mean Revenges of a Coward. —This is Leticia’s Father’s House— [Looking about. And that the dear Balcony That has so oft been conscious of our Loves; From whence she has sent me down a thousand Sighs, A thousand looks of Love, a thousand Vows. O thou dear witness of those charming Hours, How do I bless thee, how am I pleas’d to view thee After a tedious Age of Six Months Banishment.

Enter Mr. Gingle and several with Musick.

Fid. But hark ye, Mr. Gingle, is it proper to play before the Wedding?

Gin. Ever while you live, for many a time in playing after the first night, the Bride’s sleepy, the Bridegroom tir’d, and both so out of humour, that perhaps they hate any thing that puts ‘em in mind they are married.

[They play and sing.

Enter Phillis in the Balcony, throws ‘em Money.

Rise, Cloris, _charming Maid, arise! And baffle breaking Day, Shew the adoring World thy Eyes Are more surprizing gay;

The Gods of Love are smiling round, And lead the Bridegroom on, And_ Hymen _has the Altar crown’d. While all thy sighing Lovers are undone.

To see thee pass they throng the Plain; The Groves with Flowers are strown, And every young and envying Swain Wishes the hour his own. Rise then, and let the God of Day, When thou dost to the Lover yield, Behold more Treasure given away Than he in his vast Circle e’er beheld_.

Bel. Hah, Phillis, Leticia’s Woman!

Ging. Fie, Mrs. Phillis, do you take us for Fiddlers that play for Hire? I came to compliment Mrs. Leticia on her Wedding-Morning because she is my Scholar.

Phil. She sends it only to drink her Health.

Ging. Come, Lads, let’s to the Tavern then— [Ex. Musick.

Bel. Hah! said he Leticia? Sure, I shall turn to Marble at this News: I harden, and cold Damps pass through my senseless Pores.—Hah, who’s here?

Enter Gayman wrapt in his Cloke.

Gay. ‘Tis yet too early, but my Soul’s impatient, And I must see Leticia. [Goes to the door.

Bel. Death and the Devil—the Bridegroom! Stay, Sir, by Heaven, you pass not this way. [Goes to the door as he is knocking, pushes him away, and draws.

Gay. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance?—Stand off.

[They fight a little, and closing view each other.

Bel. Gayman!

Gay. My dearest Bellmour!

Bel. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver!

Gay. Hah, this to me, dear Harry?

Bel. Whither is Honour, Truth and Friendship fled?

Gay. Why, there ne’er was such a Virtue, ’.is all a Poet’s Dream.

Bel. I thank you, Sir.

Gay. I’m sorry for’t, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve it: put up your Sword—an honest man wou’d say how he’s offended, before he rashly draws.

Bel. Are not you going to be married, Sir?

Gay. No, Sir, as long as any Man in London is so, that has but a handsom Wife, Sir.

Bel. Are you not in love, Sir?

Gay. Most damnably,—and wou’d fain lie with the dear jilting Gipsy.

Bel. Hah, who would you lie with, Sir?

Gay. You catechise me roundly—’tis not fair to name, but I am no Starter, Harry; just as you left me, you find me. I am for the faithless Julia still, the old Alderman’s Wife.—’Twas high time the City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: But pray, Sir, answer me a Question or two.

Bel. Answer me first, what makes you here this Morning?

Gay. Faith, to do you service. Your damn’d little Jade of a Mistress has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in abundance, and is—

Bel. To be married! [Sighing.

Gay. Even so, God save the Mark; and she’ll be a fair one for many an Arrow besides her Husband’s, though he an old Finsbury Hero this threescore Years.

Bel. Who mean you?

Gay. Why, thy Cuckold that shall be, if thou be’st wise.

Bel. Away; Who is this Man? thou dalliest with me.

Gay. Why, an old Knight, and Alderman here o’th’ City, Sir Feeble Fainwou’d, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind his Dudgeon to an Edge.

Bel. Fie, what Stuff’s here!

Gay. Very excellent Stuff, if you have but the Grace to improve it.

Bel. You banter me—but in plain English, tell me, What made you here thus early, Entring yon House with such Authority?

Gay. Why, your Mistress Leticia, your contracted Wife, is this Morning to be married to old Sir Feeble Fainwou’d, induc’d to’t I suppose by the great Jointure he makes her, and the improbability of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel—Do I speak English now, Sir?

Bel. Too well, would I had never heard thee.

Gay. Now I being the Confident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between— the civil Pimp or so—you left her in charge with me at your Departure.

Bel. I did so.

Gay. I saw her every day; and every day she paid the Tribute of a shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows, young Bellmour: Till faith at last, for Reasons manifold, I slackt my daily Visits.

Bel. And left her to Temptation—was that well done?

Gay. Now must I afflict you and my self with a long tale of Causes why; Or be charg’d with want of Friendship.

Bel. You will do well to clear that Point to me.

Gay. I see you’re peevish, and you shall be humour’d.—You know my Julia play’d me e’en such another Prank as your false one is going to play you, and married old Sir Cautious Fulbank here i’th’ City; at which you know I storm’d, and rav’d, and swore, as thou wo’t now, and to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was cuckolding him.

Bel. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon.

Gay. And hotly have pursu’d it: Swore, wept, vow’d, wrote, upbraided, prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high—till, between you and I, Harry, I have presented the best part of Eight hundred a year into her Husband’s hands, in Mortgage.

Bel. This is the Course you’d have me steer, I thank you.

Gay. No, no, Pox on’t, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke i’th’ City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say, Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected—but thine too—and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i’th’ Country with a dying Uncle—from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect two thousand a Year.

Bel. But what’s all this to being here this Morning?

Gay. Thus have I lain conceal’d like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some blest Sunshine to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid.

Bel. Didst thou?—pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure no Woman, even possest with a new Passion, Grown confident even to Prostitution, But when she sees the Man to whom she’s sworn so very—very much, will find Remorse and Shame.

Gay. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us, And I’m undone, if seen—I’ll venture in— [Throws his Cloke over.

Enter Sir Feeble Fainwou’d, Sir Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest and Noisey. [Pass over the Stage, and go in.

Hah—see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin’d Cuckold, old Sir Cautious Fulbank.—Hah, what ail’st thou, Man?

Bel. The Bridegroom! Like Gorgon’s Head he’as turned me into Stone.

Gay. Gorgon’s Head—a Cuckold’s Head—’twas made to graft upon.

Bel. By Heaven, I’ll seize her even at the Altar, And bear her thence in Triumph.

Gay. Ay, and be borne to Newgate in Triumph, and be hanged in Triumph—’twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the Press-Yard, and be wak’d next Morning, like Mr. Barnardine in the Play—Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir?

Bel. What wouldst thou have me do?

Gay. As many an honest Man has done before thee—Cuckold him— cuckold him.

Bel. What—and let him marry her! She that’s mine by sacred Vows already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her!

Gay. She’ll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee.

Bel. Oh Heavens! Leticia marry him! and lie with him!— Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman, See if she dares pass by me to this Wickedness.

Gay. Hark ye, Harry—in earnest have a care of betraying your self; and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you.

Bel. You counsel well—but yet to see her married! How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!— But hang it, I’ll be resolute and saucy, Despise a Woman who can use me ill, And think my self above her.

Gay. Why, now thou art thy self—a Man again. But see, they’re coming forth, now stand your ground.

Enter Sir Feeble, Sir Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia sad, Diana, Phillis. [Pass over the Stage.

Bel. ‘Tis she; support me, Charles, or I shall sink to Earth, —Methought in passing by she cast a scornful glance at me; Such charming Pride I’ve seen upon her Eyes, When our Love-Quarrels arm’d ‘em with Disdain— I’ll after ‘em, if I live she shall not ‘scape me. [Offers to go, Gay. holds him.

Gay. Hold, remember you’re proscribed, And die if you are taken.

Bel. I’ve done, and I will live, but he shall ne’er enjoy her. —Who’s yonder, Ralph, my trusty Confident?

Enter Ralph.

Now though I perish I must speak to him. —Friend, what Wedding’s this?

Ral. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir; ’.is Alderman Fainwou’d, and Mrs. Leticia Bredwel.

Bel. Bredwel—I have heard of her,—she was Mistress—

Ral. To fine Mr. Bellmour, Sir,—ay, there was a Gentleman —But rest his Soul—he’s hang’d, Sir. [Weeps.

Bel. How! hang’d?

Ral. Hang’d, Sir, hang’d—at the Hague in Holland.

Gay. I heard some such News, but did not credit it.

Bel. For what, said they, was he hang’d?

Ral. Why, e’en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings.

Gay. Holland’s a Commonwealth, and is not rul’d by Kings.

Ral. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger —they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr. Bellmour cut his Throat, and was hang’d for’t, that’s all, Sir.

Bel. And did the young Lady believe this?

Ral. Yes, and took on most heavily—the Doctors gave her over—and there was the Devil to do to get her to consent to this Marriage—but her Fortune was small, and the hope of a Ladyship, and a Gold Chain at the Spittal Sermon, did the Business—and so your Servant, Sir. [Ex. Ralph.

Bel. So, here’s a hopeful Account of my sweet self now.

Enter Post-man with Letters.

Post. Pray, Sir, which is Sir Feeble Fainwou’d’.?

Bel. What wou’d you with him, Friend?

Post. I have a Letter here from the Hague for him.

Bel. From the Hague! Now have I a curiosity to see it—I am his Servant—give it me—[Gives it him, and Exit.—Perhaps here may be the second part of my Tragedy, I’m full of Mischief, Charles—and have a mind to see this Fellow’s Secrets. For from this hour I’ll be his evil Genius, haunt him at Bed and Board; he shall not sleep nor eat; disturb him at his Prayers, in his Embraces; and teaze him into Madness. Help me, Invention, Malice, Love, and Wit: [Opening the Letter. Ye Gods, and little Fiends, instruct my Mischief. [Reads.

Dear Brother,

_According to your desire I have sent for my Son from St. Omer’s, whom I have sent to wait on you in_ England; he is a very good Accountant, and fit for Business, and much pleased he shall see that Uncle to whom he’s so obliged, and which is so gratefully acknowledged by—Dear Brother, your affectionate Brother, Francis Fainwou’d.

—Hum—hark ye, Charles, do you know who I am now?

Gay. Why, I hope a very honest Friend of mine, Harry Bellmour.

Bel. No, Sir, you are mistaken in your Man.

Gay. It may be so.

Bel. I am, d’ye see, Charles, this very individual, numerical young Mr.—what ye call ‘um Fainwou’d, just come from St. Omers into England—to my Uncle the Alderman. I am, Charles, this very Man.

Gay. I know you are, and will swear’t upon occasion.

Bel. This lucky Thought has almost calm’d my mind. And if I don’t fit you, my dear Uncle, May I never lie with my Aunt.

Gay. Ah, Rogue—but prithee what care have you taken about your Pardon? ‘twere good you should secure that.

Bel. There’s the Devil, Charles,—had I but that—but I have had a very good Friend at work, a thousand Guyneys, that seldom fails; but yet in vain, I being the first Transgressor since the Act against Duelling. But I impatient to see this dear delight of my Soul, and hearing from none of you this six weeks, came from Brussels in this disguise—for the Hague I have not seen, though hang’d there—but come—let’s away, and compleat me a right St. Omer’s Spark, that I may present my self as soon as they come from Church.

[Exeunt.