_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, Francis.

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, ’.bobs, 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.