Sir Feeb.  I did but hold my peace, to hear how prettily she prattled Love:  But, fags, you are naught to think of a young Fellow—­ads bobs, you are now.

Let.  I only say—­he wou’d not have been so unkind to me.

Sir Feeb.  But what makes ye out at this Hour, and with these Jewels?

Phil.  Alas, Sir, we thought the City was in Arms, and packt up our things to secure ’em, if there had been a necessity for Flight.  For had they come to plundering once, they wou’d have begun with the rich Aldermen’s Wives, you know, Sir.

Sir Feeb.  Ads bobs, and so they would—­but there was no Arms, nor Mutiny—­where’s Francis?

Bel.  Here, Sir.

Sir Feeb.  Here, Sir—­why, what a story you made of a Meeting in the Hall, and—­Arms, and—­a—­the Devil of any thing was stirring, but a couple of old Fools, that sat gaping and waiting for one another’s business—­

Bel.  Such a Message was brought me, Sir.

Sir Feeb.  Brought! thou’rt an Ass, Francis—­but no more—­come, come, let’s to bed—­

Let.  To Bed, Sir! what, by Day-light?—­for that’s hasting on—­I wou’d not for the World—­the Night wou’d hide my Blushes—­but the Day—­wou’d let me see my self in your Embraces.

Sir Feeb.  Embraces, in a Fiddlestick; why, are we not married?

Let.  ’Tis true, Sir, and Time will make me more familiar with you, but yet my Virgin Modesty forbids it.  I’ll to Diana’s Chamber, the Night will come again.

Sir Feeb.  For once you shall prevail; and this damn’d Jant has pretty well mortified me:—­a Pox of your Mutiny, Francis.—­Come, I’ll conduct thee to Diana, and lock thee in, that I may have thee safe, Rogue.—­

  We’ll give young Wenches leave to whine and blush,
  And fly those Blessings which—­ads bobs, they wish.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Sir Feeble’s_ House_.

Enter Lady Fulbank, Gayman fine, gently pulling her back
by the hand; and Ralph meets ’em.

L. Ful.  How now, Ralph—­Let your Lady know I am come to wait on her.

[Exit Ralph.

Gay.  Oh, why this needless Visit—­
Your Husband’s safe, at least till Evening safe. 
Why will you not go back,
And give me one soft hour, though to torment me?

L. Ful.  You are at leisure now, I thank you, Sir. 
Last Night when I with all Love’s Rhetorick pleaded,
And Heaven knows what last Night might have produced,
You were engag’d!  False Man, I do believe it,
And I am satisfied you love me not.
                         [Walks away in scorn.

Gay.  Not love you! 
Why do I waste my Youth in vain pursuit,
Neglecting Interest, and despising Power? 
Unheeding and despising other Beauties. 
Why at your feet are all my Fortunes laid,
And why does all my Fate depend on you?