Chapter 29

_Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Diana, Noisey. _Sir_ Feeble _sings and salutes ‘em_.

Sir _Feeb_. Welcome, _Joan Sanderson_, welcome, welcome. [_Kisses the Bride_. Ods bobs, and so thou art, Sweet-heart. [_So to the rest_.

_Bear_. Methinks my Lady Bride is very melancholy.

Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus upon their Wedding-day.

Sir _Feeb_. Always by day-light, Sir _Cautious_.

_But when bright_ Phoebus _does retire, To_ Thetis’ _Bed to quench his fire. And do the thing we need not name, We Mortals by his influence do the same. Then then the blushing Maid lays by Her simpering, and her Modesty; And round the Lover clasps and twines Like Ivy, or the circling Vines_.

Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Ralph_, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou’dst have met us at the door with it.--Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health.

_Bear_. Away with it, to the Bride’s _Haunce in Kelder_.

Sir _Feeb_. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that shall be the morrow morning; he--ods bobs, we’ll do’t, Sweet heart; here’s to’t. [_Drinks again_.

_Let_. I die but to imagine it, wou’d I were dead indeed.

Sir _Feeb_. Hah--hum--how’s this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why, why--you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face--away, you Rogue, you’re naughty, you’re naughty. [_Patting and playing, and following her_. Look--look--look now,--buss it--buss it--buss it--and Friends; did’ums, did’ums beat its none silly Baby--away, you little Hussey, away, and pledge me-- [_She drinks a little_.

Sir _Cau_. A wise discreet Lady, I’ll warrant her; my Lady would prodigally have took it off all.

Sir _Feeb_. Dear’s its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, away--ods bobs, I long for Night--look, look, Sir _Cautious_, what an Eye’s there!

Sir _Cau_. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too.

Sir _Feeb_. Adad, I love her more and more, _Ralph_--call old _Susan_ hither--come, Mr. _Bearjest_, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was a young Fellow, I wou’d not let the young Wenches look pale and wan--but would rouse ‘em, and touse ‘em, and blowze ‘em, till I put a colour in their Cheeks, like an Apple _John_, affacks--Nay, I can make a shift still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous.

_Enter_ Susan, _Sir_ Feeble _whispers her, she goes out_.

_Let_. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience.

Sir _Cau_. A most judicious Lady; would my _Julia_ had a little of her Modesty; but my Lady’s a Wit.

_Enter_ Susan _with a Box_.

Sir _Feeb_. Look here, my little Puskin, here’s fine Playthings for its nown little Coxcomb--go--get you gone--get you gone, and off with this St. _Martin’s_ Trumpery, these Play-house Glass Baubles, this Necklace, and these Pendants, and all this false Ware; ods bobs, I’ll have no Counterfeit Geer about thee, not I. See--these are right as the Blushes on thy Cheeks, and these as true as my Heart, my Girl. Go, put’em on, and be fine. [_Gives ‘em her_.

_Let_. Believe me, Sir, I shall not merit this kindness.

Sir _Feeb_. Go to--More of your Love, and less of your Ceremony--give the old Fool a hearty buss, and pay him that way--he, ye little wanton Tit, I’ll steal up--and catch ye and love ye--adod, I will--get ye gone--get ye gone.

_Let_. Heavens, what a nauseous thing is an old Man turn’d Lover! [_Ex_. Leticia _and_ Diana.

Sir _Cau_. How, steal up, Sir _Feeble_--I hope not so; I hold it most indecent before the lawful hour.

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful hour! Why, I hope all hours are lawful with a Man’s own Wife.

Sir _Cau_. But wise Men have respect to Times and Seasons.

Sir _Feeb_. Wise young Men, Sir _Cautious_; but wise old Men must nick their Inclinations; for it is not as ‘twas wont to be, for it is not as ’.was wont to be-- [_Singing and Dancing_.

_Enter_ Ralph.

_Ral_. Sir, here’s a young Gentleman without wou’d speak with you.

Sir _Feeb_. Hum--I hope it is not that same Bellmour come to forbid the Banes--if it be, he comes too late--therefore bring me first my long Sword, and then the Gentleman. [_Exit_ Ralph.

_Bear_. Pray, Sir, use mine, it is a travell’d Blade I can assure you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. I thank you, Sir.

_Enter_ Ralph _and_ Bellmour _disguised, gives him a Letter, he reads_.

How--my Nephew! _Francis Fainwou’d_! [_Embraces him_.

_Bel_. I am glad he has told me my Christian name.

Sir _Feeb_. Sir _Cautious_, know my Nephew--’tis a young _St. Omers_ Scholar--but none of the Witnesses.

Sir _Cau_. Marry, Sir, and the wiser he; for they got nothing by’t.

_Bea_. Sir, I love and honour you, because you are a Traveller.

Sir _Feeb_. A very proper young Fellow, and as like old _Frank Fainwou’d_ as the Devil to the Collier; but, _Francis_, you are come into a very leud Town, _Francis_, for Whoring, and Plotting, and Roaring, and Drinking; but you must go to Church, _Francis_, and avoid ill Company, or you may make damnable Havock in my Cash, _Francis_, --what, you can keep Merchants Books?

_Bel_. That’s been my study, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. And you will not be proud, but will be commanded by me, _Francis_?

_Bel_. I desire not to be favour’d as a Kinsman, Sir, but as your humblest Servant.

Sir _Feeb_. Why, thou’rt an honest Fellow, _Francis_,--and thou’rt heartily welcome--and I’ll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir _Cautious_, let you and I take a turn i’th’ Garden, and get a right understanding between your Nephew Mr. _Bearjest_, and my Daughter _Dye_.

Sir _Cau_. Prudently thought on, Sir, I’ll wait on you.--

[_Ex. Sir_ Feeble, _and Sir_ Cautious.

_Bea_. You are a Traveller, I understand.

_Bel_. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir.

_Bea_. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my Travels on Foot, Sir.

_Bel_. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir?

_Bea_. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I travell’d into _Ireland_ a-foot, Sir.

_Bel_. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into _Ireland_?

_Bea_. That’s all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the Deck.

_Bel_. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir?

_Bea_. Farthest--why, that’s the End of the World--and sure a Man can go no farther.

_Bel_. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man’s Curiosity?

_Bea_. No, Sir, I’ll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World, Sir: I’ll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the King of _France_ was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to land a hundred thousand Men.

_Bel_. This is a swinging Wonder--but are there store of Mad-men there, Sir?

_Bea_. That’s another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits.

_Noi_. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say.

_Bea_. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at _St. Omers?_

_Bel_. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful _Salamanca_ Doctor, who was both here and there at the same Instant of time.

_Bea_. How, Sir? why, that’s impossible.

_Bel_. That was the Wonder, Sir, because ‘twas impossible.

_Noi_. But ‘twas a greater, Sir, that ‘twas believed.

_Enter L_. Fulb. _and_ Pert, _Sir_ Cau. _and Sir_ Feeb.

Sir _Feeb_. Enough, enough, Sir _Cautious_, we apprehend one another. Mr. _Bearjest_, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after Death, which your Uncle likes well.

_Bea_. Does he so, Sir? I’m beholding to him; then ‘tis not a Pin matter whether I like or not, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir, not like my Daughter _Dye_?

_Bea_. Oh, Lord, Sir,--die or live, ‘tis all one for that, Sir--I’ll stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes.

_Pert_. Will you so, Sir? you’ll have very good luck if you do. [_Aside_.

_Bea_. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady’s Woman.

L. _Ful_. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church-- I knew you wou’d be private.

_Enter_ Let_. fine in Jewels_.

Sir _Feeb_. You honour us too highly now, Madam. [_Presents his Wife, who salutes her_.

L. _Ful_. Give you Joy, my dear _Leticia_! I find, Sir, you were resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, ay, Madam, to the Comfort of many a hoping Coxcomb: but _Lette_,--Rogue _Lette_--thou wo’t not make me free o’th’ City a second time, wo’t thou entice the Rogues with the Twire and the wanton Leer --the amorous Simper that cries, come, kiss me--then the pretty round Lips are pouted out--he, Rogue, how I long to be at ‘em!--well, she shall never go to Church more, that she shall not.

L. _Ful_. How, Sir, not to Church, the chiefest Recreation of a City Lady?

Sir _Feeb_. That’s all one, Madam, that tricking and dressing, and prinking and patching, is not your Devotion to Heaven, but to the young Knaves that are lick’d and comb’d and are minding you more than the Parson--ods bobs, there are more Cuckolds destin’d in the Church, than are made out of it.

Sir _Cau_. Hah, ha, ha, he tickles ye, i’faith, Ladies. [_To his Lady_.

_Bel_. Not one chance look this way--and yet I can forgive her lovely Eyes, Because they look not pleas’d with all this Ceremony; And yet methinks some sympathy in Love Might this way glance their Beams--I cannot hold-- Sir, is this fair Lady my Aunt?

Sir _Feeb_. Oh, _Francis_! Come hither, _Francis_. _Lette_, here’s a young Rogue has a mind to kiss thee. [_Puts them together, she starts back_. --Nay, start not, he’s my own Flesh and Blood, My Nephew--Baby--look, look how the young Rogues stare at one another; like will to like, I see that.

_Let_. There’s something in his Face so like my _Bellmour_, it calls my Blushes up, and leaves my Heart defenceless.

_Enter_ Ralph.

_Ralph_. Sir, Dinner’s on the Table.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come--let’s in then--Gentlemen and Ladies, And share to day my Pleasures and Delight, But-- Adds bobs, they must be all mine own at Night.

[_Exeunt_.