Sir Cau. Now cannot I sleep, but am as restless as a Merchant in stormy Weather, that has ventur’d all his Wealth in one Bottom.—Woman is a leaky Vessel.—if she should like the young Rogue now, and they should come to a right understanding—why, then I am a—Wittal—that’s all, and shall be put in Print at Snow-hill, with my Effigies o’th’ top, like the sign of Cuckolds Haven.—Hum—they’re damnable silent—pray Heaven he have not murdered her, and robbed her—hum—hark, what’s that?—a noise!—he has broke his Covenant with me, and shall forfeit the Money—How loud they are? Ay, ay, the Plot’s discovered, what shall I do?—Why, the Devil is not in her sure, to be refractory now, and peevish; if she be, I must pay my Money yet—and that would be a damn’d thing.—sure they’re coming out—I’ll retire and hearken how ’.is with them. [Retires.

Enter Lady Fulbank undrest, Gayman, half undrest upon his Knees, following her, holding her Gown.

L. Ful. Oh! You unkind—what have you made me do? Unhand me, false Deceiver—let me loose—

Sir Cau. Made her do?—so, so—’tis done—I’m glad of that— [Aside peeping.

Gay. Can you be angry, Julia? Because I only seiz’d my Right of Love.

L. Ful. And must my Honour be the Price of it? Could nothing but my Fame reward your Passion? —What, make me a base Prostitute, a foul Adulteress? Oh—be gone, be gone—dear Robber of my Quiet. [Weeping.

Sir Cau. Oh, fearful!—

Gay. Oh! Calm your rage, and hear me; if you are so, You are an innocent Adulteress. It was the feeble Husband you enjoy’d In cold imagination, and no more; Shily you turn’d away—faintly resign’d.

Sir Cau. Hum, did she so?—

Gay. Till my Excess of Love betray’d the Cheat.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, that was my Fear.

L. Ful. Away, be gone—I’ll never see you more—

Gay. You may as well forbid the Sun to shine. Not see you more!—Heavens! I before ador’d you, But now I rave! And with my impatient Love, A thousand mad and wild Desires are burning! I have discover’d now new Worlds of Charms, And can no longer tamely love and suffer.

Sir Cau. So—I have brought an old House upon my Head, Intail’d Cuckoldom upon my self.

L. Ful. I’ll hear no more—Sir Cautious,—where’s my Husband? Why have you left my Honour thus unguarded?

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, she’s well enough pleas’d, I fear, for all.

Gay. Base as he is, ‘twas he expos’d this Treasure; Like silly Indians barter’d thee for Trifles.

Sir Cau. O treacherous Villain!—

L. Ful. Hah—my Husband do this?

Gay. He, by Love, he was the kind Procurer, Contriv’d the means, and brought me to thy Bed.

L. Ful. My Husband! My wise Husband! What fondness in my Conduct had he seen, To take so shameful and so base Revenge?

Gay. None—’twas filthy Avarice seduc’d him to’t.

L. Ful. If he cou’d be so barbarous to expose me, Cou’d you who lov’d me—be so cruel too?

Gay. What—to possess thee when the Bliss was offer’d? Possess thee too without a Crime to thee? Charge not my Soul with so remiss a flame, So dull a sense of Virtue to refuse it.

L. Ful. I am convinc’d the fault was all my Husband’s— And here I vow—by all things just and sacred, To separate for ever from his Bed. [Kneels.

Sir Cau. Oh, I am not able to indure it— Hold—oh, hold, my Dear— [He kneels as she rises.

L. Ful. Stand off—I do abhor thee—

Sir Cau. With all my Soul—but do not make rash Vows. They break my very Heart—regard my Reputation.

L. Ful. Which you have had such care of, Sir, already— Rise, ‘tis in vain you kneel.

Sir Cau. No—I’ll never rise again—Alas! Madam, I was merely drawn in; I only thought to sport a Dye or so: I had only an innocent design to have discover’d whether this Gentleman had stoln my Gold, that so I might have hang’d him—

Gay. A very innocent Design indeed!

Sir Cau. Ay, Sir, that’s all, as I’m an honest man.—

L. Ful. I’ve sworn, nor are the Stars more fix’d than I.

Enter Servant.

Serv. How! my Lady and his Worship up?—Madam, a Gentleman and a Lady below in a Coach knockt me up, and say they must speak with your Ladyship.

L. Ful. This is strange!—bring them up— [Exit Servant. Who can it be, at this odd time of neither Night nor Day?

Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.

Let. Madam, your Virtue, Charity and Friendship to me, has made me trespass on you for my Life’s security, and beg you will protect me, and my Husband— [Points at Bellmour.

Sir Cau. So, here’s another sad Catastrophe!

L. Ful. Hah—does Bellmour live? is’t possible? Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes; And shall not fail of my Protection now.

Bel. I humbly thank your Ladyship.

Gay. I’m glad thou hast her, Harry; but doubt thou durst not own her; nay dar’st not own thy self.

Bel. Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon— But hark, I think we are pursu’d already— But now I fear no force.

[A noise of some body coming in.

L. Ful. However, step into my Bed-chamber.

[Exeunt Leticia, Gayman and Phillis.

Enter Sir Feeble in an Antick manner.

Sir Feeb. Hell shall not hold thee—nor vast Mountains cover thee, but I will find thee out—and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase. [_Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir _Cau.

Sir Cau. How—lash my filthy Carcase?—I defy thee, Satan—

Sir Feeb. ‘Twas thus he said.

Sir Cau. Let who’s will say it, he lies in’s Throat.

Sir Feeb. How, the Ghostly—hush—have a care—for ‘twas the Ghost of Bellmour—Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!— [Runs to the Lady Fulbank.

L. Ful. What bleeding Wound?—Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir Feeb. No—but for want of rest, I shall e’er Morning. [Weeps. —She’s gone—she’s gone—she’s gone— [He weeps.

Sir Cau. Ay, ay, she’s gone, she’s gone indeed. [Sir Cau. weeps.

Sir Feeb. But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision —harkye, Sir—a word in your Ear—have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir Cau. Ay, but I have married one already. [Weeping.

Sir Feeb. Hast thou? Divorce her—flie her, quick—depart—be gone, she’ll cuckold thee—and still she’ll cuckold thee.

Sir Cau. Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?—Why, are not you married?

Sir Feeb. Mum—no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. Ful. Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [Weeps. Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool—to think she’d love me—’twas by base means I gain’d her—cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life—

L. Ful. You did so, Sir, but ‘tis not past Redress—you may make that honest Gentleman amends.

Sir Feeb. Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate—

L. Ful. That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.—Come forth, Leticia, and your injur’d Ghost.

Enter Leticia, Bellmour, and Phillis.

Sir Feeb. Hah, Ghost—another Sight would make me mad indeed.

Bel. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now.

Sir Feeb. Hah—who’s that, Francis!—my Nephew Francis?

Bel. Bellmour, or Francis, chuse you which you like, and I am either.

Sir Feeb. Hah, Bellmour! and no Ghost?

Bel. Bellmour—and not your Nephew, Sir.

Sir Feeb. But art alive? Ods bobs, I’m glad on’t, Sirrah;—But are you real, Bellmour?

Bel. As sure as I’m no Ghost.

Gay. We all can witness for him, Sir.

Sir Feeb. Where be the Minstrels, we’ll have a Dance—adod, we will —Ah—art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?—a Vengeance on thee—thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb—but I forgive thee—and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you’ll give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us.

Bel. You are so generous, Sir, that ‘tis almost with grief I receive the Blessing of Leticia.

Sir Feeb. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou’d have had her—ods bobs, you wou’d—

Enter Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, and Noisey.

Bea. Justice, Sir, Justice—I have been cheated—abused—assassinated and ravisht!

Sir Cau. How, my Nephew ravisht!—

Pert. No, Sir, I am his Wife.

Sir Cau. Hum—my Heir marry a Chamber-maid!

Bea. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. Dy, and brought her to Ned’s Chamber here—to marry her.

Sir Feeb. My Daughter Dy stoln—

Bea. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip—what does he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob’d me off here with my Lady’s cast Petticoat—

Noi. Sir, she’s a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir.

Pert. Madam, ‘twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted to him before—see, here it is— [Gives it ‘em.

All. A plain Case, a plain Case.

Sir Feeb. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter, Sir? [To Bredwel, who with Diana kneels.

Bred. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing—

Sir Feeb. You will ha’t, whether I will or not—rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew—

Sir Cau. Well, Sir, I will—but all this while you little think the Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed.

Sir Feeb. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she.

Sir Cau. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman.

Sir Feeb. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you’re a wise man. Come, dry your Eyes—and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs; d’ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs.

Sir Cau. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to you—with my whole Estate—my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. [To Gayman.

Gay. I thank you, Sir—do you consent, my Julia?

L. Ful. No, Sir—you do not like me—a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.

Gay. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. Ful. Come hither, Bredwel—witness for my Honour—that I had no design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

Bred. Believe me, Sir, ‘tis true—I feigned a danger near—just as you got to bed—and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

Bea. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain here, Sir?

Gay. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired—to beat you for abusing me to day.

Noi. To make you ‘mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the death of Sir Thomas Gayman, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand pounds a year—

Gay. I thank you, Sir—I heard the news before.

Sir Cau. How’s this; Mr. Gayman, my Lady’s first Lover? I find, Sir Feeble, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to cozen two lusty young Fellows of their Mistresses; ‘tis no wonder that both the Men and the Women have been too hard for us; we are not fit Matches for either, that’s the truth on’t.

The Warrior needs must to his Rival yield, Who comes with blunted Weapons to the Field.

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Person of Quality, Spoken by Mr. Betterton.

Long have we turn’d the point of our just Rage On the half Wits, and Criticks of the Age. Oft has the soft, insipid Sonneteer In Nice and Flutter, seen his Fop-face here. Well was the ignorant lampooning Pack Of shatterhead Rhymers whip’d on Craffey’s back; But such a trouble Weed is Poetaster, The lower ‘tis cut down, it grows the faster. Though Satir then had such a plenteous crop, An After Math of Coxcombs is come up; Who not content false Poetry to renew, By sottish Censures wou’d condemn the true. Let writing like a Gentleman—fine appear, But must you needs judge too en Cavalier? _These whiffling Criticks, ‘tis our Auth’ress fears, And humbly begs a Trial by her Peers: Or let a Pole of Fools her fate pronounce, There’s no great harm in a good quiet Dunce. But shield her, Heaven! from the left-handed blow Of airy Blockheads who pretend to know. On downright Dulness let her rather split, Than be Fop-mangled under colour of Wit.

Hear me, ye Scribling Beaus,— Why will you in sheer Rhyme, without one stroke | Of Poetry, Ladies just Disdain provoke, | And address Songs to whom you never spoke? | In doleful Hymns for dying Felons fit, Why do you tax their Eyes, and blame their Wit? Unjustly of the Innocent you complain, ’.is Bulkers give, and Tubs must cure your pain. Why in Lampoons will you your selves revile? ’.is true, none else will think it worth their while: But thus you’re hid! oh, ‘tis a politick Fetch; So some have hang’d themselves to ease_ Jack Ketch. Justly your Friends and Mistresses you blame, | For being so they well deserve the shame, | ’.is the worst scandal to have borne that name. | [See the late Satir on Poetry] At Poetry of late, and such whose Skill | Excels your own, you dart a feeble Quill; | Well may you rail at what you ape so ill. | With virtuous Women, and all Men of Worth, You’re in a state of mortal War by Birth. Nature in all her Atom-Fights ne’er knew Two things so opposite as Them and You. On such your Muse her utmost fury spends, They’re slander’d worse than any but your Friends. More years may teach you better; the mean while, If you can’t mend your Morals, mend your Style.