Enter Lady Fulbank, Sir Cautious, Sir Feeble,
    Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. Exit Bellmour.

Sir Feeb.  Lights there, Ralph. 
And my Lady’s Coach there—­

[Bearjest goes to Gayman.

Bea.  Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical Request, in shewing me the Devil—­

Gay.  I will not fail you, Sir.

L. Ful.  Madam, your Servant; I hope you’ll see no more Ghosts, Sir Feeble.

Sir Feeb.  No more of that, I beseech you, Madam: 
Prithee, Sir Cautious, take away your Wife—­Madam, your Servant—­
                                          [All go out after the Light. 
—­Come, Lette, Lette; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away,
here be the young Wenches coming—­
                                           [Puts her out, he goes out.

Enter Diana, puts on her Hood and Scarf.

Dia.  So—­they are gone to Bed; and now for Bredwel —­the Coach waits, and I’ll take this opportunity.

Father, farewell—­if you dislike my course,
Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force.

[Goes out.

SCENE II. A Bed-chamber.

Enter Sir Feeble, Leticia, and Phillis.

Let.  Ah, Phillis!  I am fainting with my Fears, Hast thou no comfort for me?

[He undresses to his Gown.

Sir Feeb.  Why, what art doing there—­fiddle fadling—­adod, you young Wenches are so loth to come to—­but when your hand’s in, you have no mercy upon us poor Husbands.

Let.  Why do you talk so, Sir?

Sir Feeb.  Was it anger’d at the Fool’s Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me,
I’ll undress it, effags, I will—­Roguy.

Let.  You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush—­I will not go to bed, unless you’ll promise me—­

Sir Feeb.  No bargaining, my little Hussey—­what, you’ll tie my hands
behind me, will you?
                        [She goes to the Table.

Let.—­What shall I do?—­assist me, gentle Maid, Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope.

Phil.  Take Courage, Madam—­you guess right—­be confident.

Sir Feeb.  No whispering, Gentlewoman—­and putting Tricks into her head; that shall not cheat me of another Night—­Look on that silly little round Chitty-face—­look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes there—­look—­look how they laugh, twire, and tempt—­he, Rogue—­I’ll buss ’em there, and here, and every where—­ods bods—­away, this is fooling and spoiling of a Man’s Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit there—­to Bed—­to Bed—­

    [As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder,
    and sees her Face in the Glass.

Let.  Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers, which are that Heaven wou’d deliver me. [Aside.