[Exeunt all but L.  Ful.  Bred, who are talking, and Gayman.

L. Ful.  But dost thou think he’ll come?

Bred.  I do believe so, Madam—­

L. Ful.  Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes.

Bred.  I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts.
                               [Exit Bredwel, stealing out Gayman.

L. Ful.  How now, what, departing?

Gay.  You are going to the Bride-Chamber.

L. Ful.  No matter, you shall stay—­

Gay.  I hate to have you in a Croud.

L. Ful.  Can you deny me—­will you not give me one lone hour i’th’
Garden?

Gay.  Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met—­No, Madam; besides, I have business—­

L. Ful.  Some Assignation—­is it so indeed?

Gay.  Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; ’tis more important business—­

L. Ful.  Oh, ’tis too late for business—­let to morrow serve.

Gay.  By no means—­the Gentleman is to go out of Town.

L. Ful.  Rise the earlier then—­

Gay.—­But, Madam, the Gentleman lies dangerously—­sick—­and should he die—­

L. Ful.  ’Tis not a dying Uncle, I hope, Sir?

Gay.  Hum—­

L. Ful.  The Gentleman a dying, and to go out of Town to morrow?

Gay.  Ay—­a—­he goes—­in a Litter—­’tis his Fancy, Madam—­Change of Air may recover him.

L. Ful.  So may your change of Mistress do me, Sir—­farewel.
          
                                             [Goes out.

Gay.  Stay, Julia—­Devil, be damn’d—­for you shall tempt no more,
I’ll love and be undone—­but she is gone—­
And if I stay, the most that I shall gain
Is but a reconciling Look, or Kiss. 
No, my kind Goblin—­

I’ll keep my Word with thee, as the least Evil;
A tantalizing Woman’s worse than Devil.

[Exit.

ACT III.

SCENE I. Sir Feeble’s House.

The Second Song before the Entry.

  A SONG made by Mr. Cheek.

  No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more
    To the admiring World those conquering Charms: 
  In vain all day unhappy Men adore,
    What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms. 
  Their vain Attempts can ne’er successful prove,
  Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

  Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts,
    Your dazling Beauty you around display,
  And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts,
    That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way. 
  Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease,
  And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.