Bel.  And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir Feeb.  Lawful! it shall be when I’ve had Livery and Seisin of her Body—­and that shall be presently Rogue,—­quick—­besides, this Bellmour dares as well be hang’d as come into England.

Bel.  If he gets his Pardon, Sir—­

Sir Feeb.  Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you must know, got his Pardon already.

Bel.  How, Sir! got his Pardon, that’s some amends for robbing him of his Wife.

Sir Feeb.  Hold, honest Francis:  What, dost think ’twas in kindness to him!  No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he’s defunct, trust up, hang’d, Francis.

Bel.  This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir Feeb.  Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

Bel.  But have you got his Pardon?—­

Sir Feeb.  I’ve done’t, I’ve done’t; Pox on him, it cost me five hundred pounds though:  Here ’tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Evening. [Gives it him.

Bel.  This was a lucky hit—­and if it scape me, let me be hang’d by a Trick indeed. [Aside.

Sir Feeb.  So, put it into my Cabinet,—­safe, Francis, safe.

Bel.  Safe, I’ll warrant you, Sir.

Sir Feeb.  My Gown, quick, quick,—­t’other Sleeve, Man—­so now my
Night-cap; well, I’ll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women,
and jump into her Arms.
                           [Exit Sir Feeble.

Bel.  He’s gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

Enter a Footman.

Foot.  Sir, my Master, Sir Cautious Fulbank, left his Watch on the little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for’t.

Bel.  Hah—­the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it shall be sent him in the Morning.

Foot.  ’Tis very well, Sir—­your Servant—­
                                    [Exit Footman.

Bel.  Let me see—­here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him—­but his sending has inspir’d me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better than Force, to secure the poor trembling Leticia—­who, I am sure, is dying with her Fears.

[Exit Bellmour.

SCENE II. Changes to the Bed-chamber; Leticia_ in an undressing by the Women at the Table_.

    Enter to them Sir Feeble Fainwou’d.

Sir Feeb.  What’s here? what’s here? the prating Women still.  Ods bobs, what, not in Bed yet? for shame of Love, Leticia.

Let.  For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou’d not have me go to Bed before all this Company.