SCENE VII. _Changes to Lady _Fancy's_ Bed-chamber, discovers her as before; _Lodwick_ as just risen in Disorder from the Bed, buttoning himself, and setting himself in order; and Noise at the Door of unlatching it._
Enter _Isabella_ groping, Sir _Patient_ without.
L. _Fan._ It is this Door that open'd, and which I thought I had secur'd.
Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, insupportable, abominable, and not to be indur'd!
_Isab._ Hah, my Father! I'm discover'd and pursu'd,--grant me to find the Bed.
L. _Fan._ Heavens! 'twas my Husband's Voice, sure we're betray'd. It must be so, for what Devil but that of Jealousy cou'd raise him at this late hour?
_Isab._ Hah, where am I, and who is't that speaks-- [To her self.
_Lod._ So, he must know that I have made a Cuckold of him. [Aside.
Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Call up my Men, the Coachman, Groom, and Butler, the Footmen, Cook, and Gardiner; bid 'em all rise and arm, with long Staff, Spade and Pitchfork, and sally out upon the Wicked.
_Lod._ S'heart! what a Death shall I die:--is there no place of safety hereabouts--for there is no resisting these unmerciful Weapons.
_Isab._ A Man's Voice!
L. _Fan._ I know of none, nor how to prevent your Discovery.
Sir _Pat._ [Within.] Oh, oh, lead me forward, I'll lie here on the Garden-side, out of the hearing of this Hellish Noise.
L. _Fan._ Hah, Noise!--what means he?
_Lod._ Nay, I know not, is there no escaping?--
_Isab._ Who can they be that talk thus? sure I have mistook my Chamber.
L. _Fan._ Oh, he's coming in--I'm ruin'd; what shall we do? here--get into the Bed--and cover your self with the Clothes--quickly--oh, my Confusion will betray me.
[_Lodwick_ gets into the Bed, _Isabella_ hides behind the Curtain very near to him.
Enter Sir _Patient_, led by _Nurse_ and _Maundy_, with Lights.
_Maun._ Pray go back, Sir, my poor Lady will be frighted out of her Wits at this danger you put your self into, the Noise shall be still'd.
L. _Fan._ Oh, what's the matter with my Love? what, do you mean to murder him? oh, lead him instantly back to his Bed.
Sir _Pat._ Oh, oh, no, I'll lie here,--put me to bed, oh, I faint,--my Chamber's possest with twenty thousand Evil Spirits.
L. _Fan._ Possest! what sickly Fancy's this?
Sir _Pat._ Ah, the House is beset, surrounded and confounded with profane tinkling, with Popish Horn-Pipes, and Jesuitical Cymbals, more Antichristian and Abominable than Organs, or Anthems.
_Nurse._ Yea verily, and surely it is the spawn of Cathedral Instruments plaid on by Babylonish Minstrels, only to disturb the Brethren.
Sir _Pat._ Ay, 'tis so, call up my Servants, and let them be first chastiz'd and then hang'd; accuse 'em for _French_ Papishes, that had a design to fire the City, or any thing:--oh, I shall die--lead me gently to this Bed.
L. _Fan._ To hinder him will discover all:--stay, Sir.--
Sir _Pat._ Hah, my Lady turn'd rebellious!--put me to Bed I say;-- [Throws himself forward to the Bed.] --hah--what's here?--what are thou,--a Man,--hah, a Man, Treason! betray'd! my Bed's defil'd, my Lady polluted, and I am cornuted; oh thou vile Serpent of my Bosom!
[She stands with her Face towards the Stage in signs of fear.
_Isab._ A Man, and in my virtuous Lady Mother's Chamber! how fortunate was I to light on this discovery!
L. _Fan._ Well, Sir, since you have seen him, I beseech you for my sake, Dear, pardon him this one time.
[Coakesing him.
Sir _Pat._ Thou beg his Pardon! Oh, was ever heard such Impudence!
L. _Fan._ Indeed, my Love, he is to blame; but we that are judicious should bear with the Frailities of Youth.
Sir _Pat._ Oh insupportable Audacity!--what canst thou say, false Woman?
L. _Fan._ Truly not much in his Defence, my Dear.
_Isab._ Oh cunning Devil!--
L. _Fan._ But, Sir, to hide the weakness of your Daughter, I have a little strain'd my Modesty.--
_Isab._ Heavens! what says she?--
L. _Fan._ 'Tis _Isabella's_ Lover, Sir, whom I've conceal'd.
_Lod._ A good hint to save both our Credits.
Sir _Pat._ How, Mr. _Fainlove_ mean you?
[_Lodwick_ rises and comes a little more forward, _Isabella_ does the like, till both meet at the feet of the Bed, and start, _Lodwick_ looking simply.
L. _Fan._ Ay, my dear, Mr. _Fainlove_.
_Lod._ _Isabella_ here! must she know too what a fine inconstant Dog I am?--
_Isab._ _Lodwick!_ and in my Mother's Chamber! may I believe my Eyes!
Sir _Pat._ But how got he hither?--tell me that: oh Youth, Youth, to what degree of Wickedness art thou arriv'd?
L. _Fan._ She appointed him to come this Night, Sir, and he going to her Chamber, by mistake came into mine, it being the next to her's.
_Maun._ But, Lord, Sir, had you heard how my Lady school'd him, whilst I ran down to fetch a Light!
_Lod._ Now does my Conscience tell me, I am a damn'd Villain.-- [Aside, looking pitifully on _Isabella_.
L. _Fan._ But the poor Man presently perceiv'd his mistake, and beg'd my pardon in such feeling Terms--that I vow I had not the heart to deny it him.