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.