Bel.  And thus—­I’ll listen to thee. [Kneels.

    Enter Sir Feeble, L.  Fulbank, Sir Cautious.

Sir Feeb. Lette, Lette, Lette, where are you, little Rogue, Lette? 
—­Hah—­hum—­what’s here—­

Bel. snatches her to his Bosom, as if she fainted.

Bel.  Oh Heavens, she’s gone, she’s gone!

Sir Feeb.  Gone—­whither is she gone?—­it seems she had the Wit to take good Company with her—­

[The Women go to her, take her up.

Bel.  She’s gone to Heaven, Sir, for ought I know.

Sir Cau.  She was resolv’d to go in a young Fellow’s Arms, I see.

Sir Feeb.  Go to, Francis—­go to.

L. Ful.  Stand back, Sir, she recovers.

Bel.  Alas, I found her dead upon the Floor, —­Shou’d I have left her so—­if I had known your mind—­

Sir Feeb.  Was it so—­was it so?—­Got so, by no means, Francis.—­

Let.  Pardon him, Sir, for surely I had died, Bur for his timely coming.

Sir Feeb.  Alas, poor Pupsey—­was it sick—­look here—­here’s a fine thing to make it well again.  Come, buss, and it shall have it—­oh, how I long for Night. Ralph, are the Fidlers ready?

Ral.  They are tuning in the Hall, Sir.

Sir Feeb.  That’s well, they know my mind.  I hate that same twang, twang, twang, fum, fum, fum, tweedle, tweedle, tweedle, then scrue go the Pins, till a man’s Teeth are on an edge; then snap, says a small Gut, and there we are at a loss again.  I long to be in bed with a—­hey tredodle, tredodle, tredodle,—­with a hay tredool, tredodle, tredo—­
                       [Dancing and playing on his Stick like a Flute.

Sir Cau.  A prudent Man would reserve himself—­Good-facks, I danc’d so on my Wedding-day, that when I came to Bed, to my Shame be it spoken, I fell fast asleep, and slept till morning.

L. Ful.  Where was your Wisdom then, Sir Cautious?  But I know what a wise Woman ought to have done.

Sir Feeb.  Odsbobs, that’s Wormwood, that’s Wormwood—­I shall have my young Hussey set a-gog too; she’ll hear there are better things in the World than she has at home, and then odsbobs, and then they’ll ha’t, adod, they will, Sir Cautious.  Ever while you live, keep a Wife ignorant, unless a Man be as brisk as his Neighbours.

Sir Cau.  A wise Man will keep ’em from baudy Christnings then, and Gossipings.

Sir Feeb.  Christnings and Gossipings! why, they are the very Schools that debauch our Wives, as Dancing-Schools do our Daughters.

Sir Cau.  Ay, when the overjoy’d good Man invites ’em all against that time Twelve-month:  Oh, he’s a dear Man, cries one—­I must marry, cries another, here’s a Man indeed—­my Husband—­God help him—­