_Let_. Alas, I heard, my _Bellmour_, thou wert dead.
_Bel_. And was it thus you mourn'd my Funeral?
_Let_. I will not justify my hated Crime: But Oh! remember I was poor and helpless, And much reduc'd, and much impos'd upon.
[Bellmour _weeps_.
_Bel_. And Want compell'd thee to this wretched Marriage--did it?
_Let_. 'Tis not a Marriage, since my _Bellmour_ lives; The Consummation were Adultery.
I was thy Wife before, wo't thou deny me?
_Bel_. No, by those Powers that heard our mutual Vows, Those Vows that tie us faster than dull Priests.
_Let_. But oh my _Bellmour_, thy sad Circumstances Permit thee not to make a publick Claim: Thou art proscribed, and diest if thou art seen.
_Bel_. Alas!
_Let_. Yet I wou'd wander with thee o'er the World, And share thy humblest Fortune with thy Love.
_Bel_. Is't possible, _Leticia_, thou wou'dst fly To foreign Shores with me?
_Let_. Can _Bellmour_ doubt the Soul he knows so well?
_Bel_. Perhaps in time the King may find my Innocence, and may extend his Mercy: Mean time I'll make provision for our Flight.
_Let_. But how 'twixt this and that can I defend My self from the loath'd Arms of an impatient Dotard, That I may come a spotless Maid to thee?
_Bel_. Thy native Modesty and my Industry Shall well enough secure us.
Feign your nice Virgin-Cautions all the day; Then trust at night to my Conduct to preserve thee.
--And wilt thou yet be mine? Oh, swear a-new, Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business, It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; Swear--swear, so as if thou break'st-- Thou mayst be--any thing--but damn'd, _Leticia_.
_Let_. Thus then, and hear me, Heaven! [_Kneels_.
_Bel_. And thus--I'll listen to thee. [_Kneels_.
_Enter Sir_ Feeble, _L_. Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious.
Sir _Feeb_. _Lette, Lette, Lette_, where are you, little Rogue, _Lette_?
--Hah--hum--what's here--
_Bel_. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.
_Bel_. Oh Heavens, she's gone, she's gone!
Sir _Feeb_. Gone--whither is she gone?--it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her--
[_The Women go to her, take her up_.
_Bel_. She's gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.
Sir _Cau_. She was resolv'd to go in a young Fellow's Arms, I see.
Sir _Feeb_. Go to, _Francis_--go to.
L. _Ful_. Stand back, Sir, she recovers.
_Bel_. Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, --Shou'd I have left her so--if I had known your mind--
Sir _Feeb_. Was it so--was it so?--Got so, by no means, _Francis_.--
_Let_. Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.
Sir _Feeb_. Alas, poor Pupsey--was it sick--look here--here's a fine thing to make it well again. Come, buss, and it shall have it--oh, how I long for Night. _Ralph_, are the Fidlers ready?
_Ral_. They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.
Sir _Feeb_. That's well, they know my mind. I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man's Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again. I long to be in bed with a--hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,--with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo-- [_Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute_.
Sir _Cau_. A prudent Man would reserve himself--Good-facks, I danc'd so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.
L. _Ful_. Where was your Wisdom then, Sir _Cautious_? But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.
Sir _Feeb_. Odsbobs, that's Wormwood, that's Wormwood--I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she'll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they'll ha't, adod, they will, Sir _Cautious_. Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.
Sir _Cau_. A wise Man will keep 'em from baudy Christnings then, and Gossipings.
Sir _Feeb_. Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.
Sir _Cau_. Ay, when the overjoy'd good Man invites 'em all against that time Twelve-month: Oh, he's a dear Man, cries one--I must marry, cries another, here's a Man indeed--my Husband--God help him--
Sir _Feeb_. Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again: Just my Condition, cries a third: so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz'd, and turn'd the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir _Cautious_.
Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir _Feeble_; the grave and sober part o'th' Nation are hereby ridicul'd,--Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.
L. _Ful_. Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos'd upon.
_Enter Fiddles playing, Mr_. Bearjest _and_ Diana _dancing_; Bredwel, Noisey, &c.
L. _Ful_. So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. _Dy's_ Heart.
_Bea_. Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt? I never knew but one way to a Woman's Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a--kind of a--as it were, d'ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other: and Madam--I am, as it were--a bold Adventurer.
_Dia_. And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?
_Bea_. Sure!--I thank you for that--as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.
_Dia_. How, Sir, scurvily?