Sir Cau.  A wise discreet Lady, I’ll warrant her; my Lady would prodigally have took it off all.

Sir Feeb.  Dear’s its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, away—­ods bobs, I long for Night—­look, look, Sir Cautious, what an Eye’s there!

Sir Cau.  Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too.

Sir Feeb.  Adad, I love her more and more, Ralph—­call old Susan hither—­come, Mr. Bearjest, put the Glass about.  Ods bobs, when I was a young Fellow, I wou’d not let the young Wenches look pale and wan—­but would rouse ’em, and touse ’em, and blowze ’em, till I put a colour in their Cheeks, like an Apple John, affacks—­Nay, I can make a shift still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous.

    Enter Susan, Sir Feeble whispers her, she goes out.

Let.  Indeed, not I; Sir.  I shall be all Obedience.

Sir Cau.  A most judicious Lady; would my Julia had a little of her
Modesty; but my Lady’s a Wit.

    Enter Susan with a Box.

Sir Feeb.  Look here, my little Puskin, here’s fine Playthings for its nown little Coxcomb—­go—­get you gone—­get you gone, and off with this St. Martin’s Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace, and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I’ll have no Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See—­these are right as the Blushes on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl.  Go, put’em on, and be fine.
                [Gives ’em her.

Let.  Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness.

Sir Feeb.  Go to—­More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony—­give the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way—­he, ye little wanton Tit, I’ll steal up—­and catch ye and love ye—­adod, I will—­get ye gone—­get ye gone.

Let.  Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn’d Lover!
                                           [Ex.  Leticia and Diana.

Sir Cau.  How, steal up, Sir Feeble—­I hope not so; I hold it most indecent before the lawful hour.

Sir Feeb.  Lawful hour!  Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man’s own Wife.

Sir Cau.  But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons.

Sir Feeb.  Wise young Men, Sir Cautious; but wise old Men must nick

their Inclinations; for it is not as ’twas wont to be, for it is not as ’twas wont to be—­
                      [Singing and Dancing.

Enter Ralph.

Ral.  Sir, here’s a young Gentleman without wou’d speak with you.

Sir Feeb.  Hum—­I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the
Banes—­if it be, he comes too late—­therefore bring me first my long
Sword, and then the Gentleman.
                       [Exit Ralph.