_Bea_. Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely--keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like _Janus_, or a Spread-Eagle.
_Dia_. And do you expect I shou'd be honest the while?
_Bea_. Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.
L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not an honest Woman?
_Bea_. Except my Lady Aunt--Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my Family--you shall pardon me, here--cuff me, cuff me soundly.
[_Kneels to her_.
_Enter_ Gayman _richly drest_.
_Gay_. This Love's a damn'd bewitching thing--Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing _Julia_ to night: hah--there, and with a Fop at her Feet.--Oh Vanity of Woman!
[_Softly pulls her_.
L. _Ful_. Oh, Sir, you're welcome from _Northamptonshire_.
_Gay_. Hum--surely she knows the Cheat. [_Aside_.
L. _Ful_. You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your Uncle be alive.
_Gay_. Pray Heaven she have not found my Circumstances!
But if she have, Confidence must assist me-- [_Aside_.
--And, Madam, you're too gay for me to inquire Whether you are that _Julia_ which I left you?
L. _Ful_. Oh, doubtless, Sir--
_Gay_. But why the Devil do I ask--Yes, you are still the same; one of those hoiting Ladies, that love nothing like Fool and Fiddle; Crouds of Fops; had rather be publickly, though dully, flatter'd, than privately ador'd: you love to pass for the Wit of the Company, by talking all and loud.
L. _Ful_. Rail on, till you have made me think my Virtue at so low Ebb, it should submit to you.
_Gay_. What--I'm not discreet enough; I'll babble all in my next high Debauch, Boast of your Favours, and describe your Charms To every wishing Fool.
L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me-- Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_, Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment; What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night, How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine.
Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love, Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World, I'm for the Bargain.
Sir _Cau_. Hum--what's here, a young Spark at my Wife?
[_Goes about 'em_.
_Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all, My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope?
Set me an Age--say when you will be kind, And I will languish out in starving Wish: But thus to gape for Legacies of Love, Till Youth be past Enjoyment, The Devil I will as soon--farewel.
[_Offers to go_.
L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay.
_Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [_Aside_.
Sir _Cau_. 'Tis so, ay, ay, 'tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; 'tis here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes.
Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he'll chain her up--the Gad-Bee's in his Quonundrum--in Charity I'll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your Ladyship?
L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided-- [_Takes_ Gayman's _hand_.
Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on't, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog.
[_They dance all_.
Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs, and then--
_Dia_. And then we'll have t'other Dance.
Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches --odds bobs, a Man's cozen'd of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then--we'll toss the Stocking.
[_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman.
L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he'll come?
_Bred_. I do believe so, Madam--
L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.
_Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts.
[_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman.
L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing?
_Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber.
L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay--
_Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud.
L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i'th'
Garden?
_Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have business--
L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed?
_Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; 'tis more important business--
L. _Ful_. Oh, 'tis too late for business--let to morrow serve.
_Gay_. By no means--the Gentleman is to go out of Town.
L. _Ful_. Rise the earlier then--
_Gay_.--But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously--sick--and should he die--