Sir Cau.—­Hum—­two sixes—­
                                [Rises and looks dolefully round.

L. Ful.  How now? what’s the matter you look so like an Ass, what have you lost?

Sir Cau.  A Bauble—­a Bauble—­’tis not for what I’ve lost—­but because
I have not won—­

Sir Feeb.  You look very simple, Sir—­what think you of Cato now?

Sir Cau.  A wise Man may have his failings—­

L. Ful.  What has my Husband lost?—­

Sir Cau.  Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands,
Sweet-heart.

Gay.  But I shall improve ’em, Madam, I’ll warrant you.

L. Ful.  Well, since ’tis no worse, bring in your fine Dancer,
Cousin, you say you brought to entertain your Mistress with.

[Bearjest goes out.

Gay.  Sir, you’ll take care to see me paid to Night?

Sir Cau.  Well, Sir—­but my Lady, you must know, Sir, has the common frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if persuaded to’t by me.

Gay.  ’Tis not in my Bargain to sollicit her, Sir, you are to procure her—­or three hundred pounds, Sir; chuse you whether.

Sir Cau.  Procure her! with all my soul, Sir; alas, you mistake my honest meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part—­In order to this, Sir—­get but your self conveyed in a Chest to my house, with a Direction upon’t for me; and for the rest—­

Gay.  I understand you.

Sir Feeb. Ralph, get supper ready.

    Enter Bea. with Dancers; all go out but Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau.  Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady—­but if she shou’d be refractory now—­and make me pay Three hundred Pounds—­why, sure she won’t have so little Grace—­Three hundred Pounds sav’d, is three hundred pounds got—­by our account—­Cou’d All—­

Who of this City-Privilege are free, Hope to be paid for Cuckoldom like me; Th’unthriving Merchant, whom gray Hair adorns, Before all Ventures wou’d ensure his Horns; For thus, while he but lets spare Rooms to hire, His Wife’s cracked Credit keeps his own entire.

[Exit.

ACT V.

SCENE I. Sir Cautious his House.

Enter Bellmour alone, sad.

Bel.  The Night is come, oh my Leticia! 
The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed;
Whilst she with all the languishment of Love,
And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me,
Which silently implore, I would deliver her. 
But how! ay, there’s the Question—­hah—­ [Pausing. 
I’ll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber—­
And something I will do—­may serve us yet—­
If all my Arts should fail—­I’ll have recourse [Draws a dagger. 
To this—­and bear Leticia off by force. 
—­But see she comes—­