L. Ful.  Hah—­does Bellmour live? is’t possible? 
Believe me, Sir, you ever had my Wishes;
And shall not fail of my Protection now.

Bel.  I humbly thank your Ladyship.

Gay.  I’m glad thou hast her, Harry; but doubt thou durst not own her; nay dar’st not own thy self.

Bel.  Yes, Friend, I have my Pardon—­ But hark, I think we are pursu’d already—­ But now I fear no force.

[A noise of some body coming in.

L. Ful.  However, step into my Bed-chamber.

[Exeunt Leticia, Gayman and Phillis.

Enter Sir Feeble in an Antick manner.

Sir Feeb.  Hell shall not hold thee—­nor vast Mountains cover thee, but
I will find thee out—­and lash thy filthy and Adulterous Carcase.
                           [Coming up in a menacing manner to Sir Cau.

Sir Cau.  How—­lash my filthy Carcase?—­I defy thee, Satan—­

Sir Feeb.  ’Twas thus he said.

Sir Cau.  Let who’s will say it, he lies in’s Throat.

Sir Feeb.  How, the Ghostly—­hush—­have a care—­for ’twas the Ghost of
Bellmour—­Oh! hide that bleeding Wound, it chills my Soul!—­
                                            [Runs to the Lady Fulbank.

L. Ful.  What bleeding Wound?—­Heavens, are you frantick, Sir?

Sir Feeb.  No—­but for want of rest, I shall e’er Morning. [Weeps. 
—­She’s gone—­she’s gone—­she’s gone—­ [He weeps.

Sir Cau.  Ay, ay, she’s gone, she’s gone indeed.
                                          [Sir Cau. weeps.

Sir Feeb.  But let her go, so I may never see that dreadful Vision —­harkye, Sir—­a word in your Ear—­have a care of marrying a young Wife.

Sir Cau.  Ay, but I have married one already. [Weeping.

Sir Feeb.  Hast thou?  Divorce her—­flie her, quick—­depart—­be gone, she’ll cuckold thee—­and still she’ll cuckold thee.

Sir Cau.  Ay, Brother, but whose fault was that?—­Why, are not you married?

Sir Feeb.  Mum—­no words on’t, unless you’ll have the Ghost about your
Ears; part with your Wife, I say, or else the Devil will part ye.

L. Ful.  Pray go to Bed, Sir.

Sir Feeb.  Yes, for I shall sleep now, I shall lie alone; [Weeps.  Ah, Fool, old dull besotted Fool—­to think she’d love me—­’twas by base means I gain’d her—­cozen’d an honest Gentleman of Fame and Life—­

L. Ful.  You did so, Sir, but ’tis not past Redress—­you may make that honest Gentleman amends.

Sir Feeb.  Oh, wou’d I could, so I gave half my Estate—­

L. Ful.  That Penitence atones with him and Heaven.—­Come forth, Leticia, and your injur’d Ghost.