Flaunt.  Oh Lord!  Who’s here?  The fine Squire? [Aside.

Trust.  Sir Timothy Tawdry, Sir, is married to Mrs. Phillis.

Sir Tim.  How can that be a Marriage, when he who join’d us, was but a hired Fellow, dress’d like a Parson?

Trust.  Sir, ’twas Parson Tickletext that marry’d ’em.

Sir Tim.  Oh, what a damn’d lying Pimp is this!—­Sham, didst thou not hire a Fellow, (because I was damnably in Love, and in haste) to marry us, that was no Parson?

Sham.  Why, truly, Sir—­I did go to hire such a one—­

Sir Tim.  Look ye there now.

Sham.  But you’d meet with none; and because you said you shou’d die if you enjoy’d her not presently, and that she would not yield on any other Terms, but those of Marriage, I e’en brought the Parson that Trusty had provided for you.

Sir Tim.  Oh Villain, to betray me! and for no Reward!

Trust.  Yes, indeed, Sir, the four hundred Guineas you left behind my young Mistress’s Looking-glass fell to his share.

Sir Tim.  What’s my Money gone! and I am marry’d too!  This ’tis not to use to go to Church; for then I might have chanc’d to know the Parson.

Bel.  Death, you Dog! you deserve to die, for your base Designs upon a Maid of her Quality—­How durst you, Sister, without my leave, marry that Rascal?

Phil.  Sir, you deny’d me my Portion, and my Uncle design’d to turn me out of doors, and in my Despair I accepted of him.

Flaunt.  Married! and to a Wife of no Fortune! that’s the worst part on’t—­what shall I do?

Bel.  Renounce this leud Fool, and I’ll make thee a Fortune suitable to thy Quality.

Sir Tim.  Say you so?—­Renounce me, Sir!  I’d have you to know I merit her:  And as for Leudness, I name no body, Bellmour—­but only some have the Art of hiding it better than I—­but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing, and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come short of you:  And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with your Sister, inspite of you.

Lord.  Well, Sir Timothy, since my Niece has done amiss, ’tis too late to mend it—­and that you may not repent, I’ll take care her Fortune shall be suitable to the Jointure you’ll make her.

Bel.  With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir Timothy—­I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you quite out of Fop-road.

Lord.  This Day we’ll set apart for Mirth, And all must make my House their happy home.

Bel.  To thee, Celinda! all my Good I owe, My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too, Since all had perish’d by a broken Vow.