But when bright Phoebus does retire, To Thetis’ Bed to quench his fire. And do the thing we need not name, We Mortals by his influence do the same. Then then the blushing Maid lays by Her simpering, and her Modesty; And round the Lover clasps and twines Like Ivy, or the circling Vines.

Sir Feeb. Here, Ralph, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou’dst have met us at the door with it.—Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health.

Bear. Away with it, to the Bride’s Haunce in Kelder.

Sir Feeb. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that shall be the morrow morning; he—ods bobs, we’ll do’t, Sweet heart; here’s to’t. [Drinks again.

Let. I die but to imagine it, wou’d I were dead indeed.

Sir Feeb. Hah—hum—how’s this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why, why—you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face—away, you Rogue, you’re naughty, you’re naughty. [Patting and playing, and following her. Look—look—look now,—buss it—buss it—buss it—and Friends; did’ums, did’ums beat its none silly Baby—away, you little Hussey, away, and pledge me— [She drinks a little.

Sir Cau. A wise discreet Lady, I’ll warrant her; my Lady would prodigally have took it off all.

Sir Feeb. Dear’s its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, away—ods bobs, I long for Night—look, look, Sir Cautious, what an Eye’s there!

Sir Cau. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too.

Sir Feeb. Adad, I love her more and more, Ralph—call old Susan hither—come, Mr. Bearjest, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was a young Fellow, I wou’d not let the young Wenches look pale and wan—but would rouse ‘em, and touse ‘em, and blowze ‘em, till I put a colour in their Cheeks, like an Apple John, affacks—Nay, I can make a shift still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous.

Enter Susan, Sir Feeble whispers her, she goes out.

Let. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience.

Sir Cau. A most judicious Lady; would my Julia had a little of her Modesty; but my Lady’s a Wit.

Enter Susan with a Box.

Sir Feeb. Look here, my little Puskin, here’s fine Playthings for its nown little Coxcomb—go—get you gone—get you gone, and off with this St. Martin’s Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace, and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I’ll have no Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See—these are right as the Blushes on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl. Go, put’em on, and be fine. [Gives ‘em her.

Let. Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness.

Sir Feeb. Go to—More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony—give the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way—he, ye little wanton Tit, I’ll steal up—and catch ye and love ye—adod, I will—get ye gone—get ye gone.

Let. Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn’d Lover! [Ex. Leticia and Diana.

Sir Cau. How, steal up, Sir Feeble—I hope not so; I hold it most indecent before the lawful hour.

Sir Feeb. Lawful hour! Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man’s own Wife.

Sir Cau. But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons.

Sir Feeb. Wise young Men, Sir Cautious; but wise old Men must nick their Inclinations; for it is not as ‘twas wont to be, for it is not as ’.was wont to be— [Singing and Dancing.

Enter Ralph.

Ral. Sir, here’s a young Gentleman without wou’d speak with you.

Sir Feeb. Hum—I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the Banes—if it be, he comes too late—therefore bring me first my long Sword, and then the Gentleman. [Exit Ralph.

Bear. Pray, Sir, use mine, it is a travell’d Blade I can assure you, Sir.

Sir Feeb. I thank you, Sir.

Enter Ralph and Bellmour disguised, gives him a Letter, he reads.

How—my Nephew! Francis Fainwou’d! [Embraces him.

Bel. I am glad he has told me my Christian name.

Sir Feeb. Sir Cautious, know my Nephew—’tis a young St. Omers Scholar—but none of the Witnesses.

Sir Cau. Marry, Sir, and the wiser he; for they got nothing by’t.

Bea. Sir, I love and honour you, because you are a Traveller.

Sir Feeb. A very proper young Fellow, and as like old Frank Fainwou’d as the Devil to the Collier; but, Francis, you are come into a very leud Town, Francis, for Whoring, and Plotting, and Roaring, and Drinking; but you must go to Church, Francis, and avoid ill Company, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash, Francis, —what, you can keep Merchants Books?

Bel. That’s been my study, Sir.

Sir Feeb. And you will not be proud, but will be commanded by me, Francis?

Bel. I desire not to be favour’d as a Kinsman, Sir, but as your humblest Servant.

Sir Feeb. Why, thou’rt an honest Fellow, Francis,—and thou’rt heartily welcome—and I’ll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir Cautious, let you and I take a turn i’th’ Garden, and get a right understanding between your Nephew Mr. Bearjest, and my Daughter Dye.

Sir Cau. Prudently thought on, Sir, I’ll wait on you.—

[Ex. Sir Feeble, and Sir Cautious.

Bea. You are a Traveller, I understand.

Bel. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir.

Bea. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my Travels on Foot, Sir.

Bel. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir?

Bea. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I travell’d into Ireland a-foot, Sir.

Bel. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into Ireland?

Bea. That’s all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the Deck.

Bel. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir?

Bea. Farthest—why, that’s the End of the World—and sure a Man can go no farther.

Bel. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man’s Curiosity?

Bea. No, Sir, I’ll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World, Sir: I’ll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the King of France was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to land a hundred thousand Men.

Bel. This is a swinging Wonder—but are there store of Mad-men there, Sir?

Bea. That’s another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits.

Noi. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say.

Bea. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at St. Omers?

Bel. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful Salamanca Doctor, who was both here and there at the same Instant of time.

Bea. How, Sir? why, that’s impossible.

Bel. That was the Wonder, Sir, because ‘twas impossible.

Noi. But ‘twas a greater, Sir, that ‘twas believed.

Enter L. Fulb. and Pert, Sir Cau. and Sir Feeb.

Sir Feeb. Enough, enough, Sir Cautious, we apprehend one another. Mr. Bearjest, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after Death, which your Uncle likes well.

Bea. Does he so, Sir? I’m beholding to him; then ‘tis not a Pin matter whether I like or not, Sir.

Sir Feeb. How, Sir, not like my Daughter Dye?

Bea. Oh, Lord, Sir,—die or live, ‘tis all one for that, Sir—I’ll stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes.

Pert. Will you so, Sir? you’ll have very good luck if you do. [Aside.

Bea. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady’s Woman.

L. Ful. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church— I knew you wou’d be private.

Enter Let_. fine in Jewels_.

Sir Feeb. You honour us too highly now, Madam. [Presents his Wife, who salutes her.

L. Ful. Give you Joy, my dear Leticia! I find, Sir, you were resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty.

Sir Feeb. Ay, ay, Madam, to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb: but Lette,—Rogue Lette—thou wo’t not make me free o’th’ City a second time, wo’t thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and the wanton Leer —the amorous Simper that cries, come, kiss me—then the pretty round Lips are pouted out—he, Rogue, how I long to be at ‘em!—well, she shall never go to Church more, that she shall not.

L. Ful. How, Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City Lady?

Sir Feeb. That’s all one, Madam, that tricking and dressing, and prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young Knaves that are lick’d and comb’d and are minding you more than the Parson—ods bobs, there are more Cuckolds destin’d in the Church, than are made out of it.

Sir Cau. Hah, ha, ha, he tickles ye, i’faith, Ladies. [To his Lady.

Bel. Not one chance look this way—and yet I can forgive her lovely Eyes, Because they look not pleas’d with all this Ceremony; And yet methinks some sympathy in Love Might this way glance their Beams—I cannot hold— Sir, is this fair Lady my Aunt?

Sir Feeb. Oh, Francis! Come hither, Francis. Lette, here’s a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee. [Puts them together, she starts back. —Nay, start not, he’s my own Flesh and Blood, My Nephew—Baby—look, look how the young Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that.

Let. There’s something in his Face so like my Bellmour, it calls my Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless.

Enter Ralph.

Ralph. Sir, Dinner’s on the Table.

Sir Feeb. Come, come—let’s in then—Gentlemen and Ladies, And share to day my Pleasures and Delight, But— Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night.

[Exeunt.