_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; 'Tis 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's_?
_Bel_. What wou'd you with him, Friend?
_Post_. I have a Letter here from the _Hague_ for him.