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.