Bel.  Oh, haste, the Minutes fly—­leave all behind. 
And bring Leticia only to my Arms.
                                 [A noise of People. 
—­Hah, what noise is that?  ’Tis coming this way,
I tremble with my fears—­hah, Death and the Devil,
’Tis he—­

Enter Sir Feeble and his Men arm’d, goes to the door, knocks.

Ay, ’tis he, and I’m undone—­what shall I do to kill him now? besides, the Sin wou’d put me past all Hopes of pardoning.

Sir Feeb.  A damn’d Rogue to deceive me thus.—­

Bel.  Hah—­see, by Heaven Leticia, Oh, we are ruin’d!

Sir Feeb.  Hum—­what’s here, two Women?—­
                               [Stands a little off.

Enter Leticia and Phillis softly, undrest, with a Box.

Let.  Where are you, my best Wishes?  Lord of my Vows—­and Charmer of my Soul?  Where are you?

Bel.  Oh, Heavens!—­
              [Draws his Sword half-way.

Sir Feeb.  Hum, who’s here?  My Gentlewoman—­she’s monstrous kind of the sudden.  But whom is’t meant to? [Aside.

Let.  Give me your hand, my Love, my Life, my All—­Alas! where are you?

Sir Feeb.  Hum—­no, no, this is not to me—­I am jilted, cozen’d, cuckolded, and so forth.—­
                              [Groping, she takes hold of Sir Feeb.

Let.  Oh, are you here? indeed you frighted me with your Silence—­here, take these Jewels, and let us haste away.

Sir Feeb.  Hum—­are you thereabouts, Mistress? was I sent away with a Sham-Plot for this!—­She cannot mean it to me. [Aside.

Let.  Will you not speak?—­will you not answer me?—­do you repent already?—­before Enjoyment are you cold and false?

Sir Feeb.  Hum, before Enjoyment—­that must be me.  Before Injoyment—­ Ay, ay, ’tis I—­I see a little Prolonging a Woman’s Joy, sets an Edge upon her Appetite. [Merrily.

Let.  What means my Dear? shall we not haste away?

Sir Feeb.  Haste away! there ’tis again—­No—­’tis not me she means:  what, at your Tricks and Intrigues already?—­Yes, yes, I am destin’d a Cuckold—­

Let.  Say, am I not your Wife? can you deny me?

Sir Feeb.  Wife! adod, ’tis I she means—­’tis I she means—­[Merrily.

Let.  Oh Bellmour, Bellmour.

[Sir Feeb_. starts back from her hands_.

Sir Feeb.  Hum—­what’s that—­Bellmour!

Let.  Hah!  Sir Feeble!—­he would not, Sir, have us’d me thus unkindly.

Sir Feeb.  Oh—­I’m glad ’tis no worse—­Bellmour, quoth a!  I thought the Ghost was come again.

Phil.  Why did you not speak, Sir, all this while?—­my Lady weeps with your Unkindness.