Chapter 32

_The Second Song before the Entry_.

A SONG made by Mr. _Cheek_.

_No more, Lucinda, ah! expose no more To the admiring World those conquering Charms: In vain all day unhappy Men adore, What the kind Night gives to my longing Arms. Their vain Attempts can ne’er successful prove, Whilst I so well maintain the Fort of Love.

Yet to the World with so bewitching Arts, Your dazling Beauty you around display, And triumph in the Spoils of broken Hearts, That sink beneath your feet, and croud your Way. Ah! suffer now your Cruelty to cease, And to a fruitless War prefer a Peace_.

_Enter_ Ralph _with Light, Sir_ Feeble, _and_ Bellmour

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, they’re gone--Come, _Francis_, you shall have the Honour of undressing me for the Encounter; but ‘twill be a sweet one, _Francis_.

_Bel_. Hell take him, how he teazes me! [_Undressing all the while_.

Sir _Feeb_. But is the young Rogue laid, _Francis_--is she stoln to Bed? What Tricks the young Baggages have to whet a man’s Appetite?

_Bel_. Ay, Sir--Pox on him--he will raise my Anger up to Madness, and I shall kill him to prevent his going to Bed to her. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. A pise of those Bandstrings--the more haste the less speed.

_Bel_. Be it so in all things, I beseech thee, _Venus_.

Sir _Feeb_. Thy aid a little, _Francis_--oh, oh--thou choakest me, ’.bobs, what dost mean? [_Pinches him by the Throat_.

_Bel_. You had so hamper’d ‘em, Sir--the Devil’s very mischievous in me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. Come, come, quick, good _Francis_, adod, I’m as yare as a Hawk at the young Wanton--nimbly, good _Francis_, untruss, untruss.

_Bel_. Cramps seize ye--what shall I do? the near Approach distracts me. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, so, my Breeches, good _Francis_. But well, _Francis_, how dost think I got the young Jade my Wife?

_Bel_. With five hundred pounds a year Jointure, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. No, that wou’d not do, the Baggage was damnably in love with a young Fellow they call _Bellmour_, a handsome young Rascal he was, they say, that’s truth on’t; and a pretty Estate: but happening to kill a Man he was forced to fly.

_Bel_. That was great pity, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. Pity! hang him, Rogue, ‘sbobs, and all the young Fellows in the Town deserve it; we can never keep our Wives and Daughters honest for rampant young Dogs; and an old Fellow cannot put in amongst ‘em, under being undone, with Presenting, and the Devil and all. But what dost think I did? being damnably in love--I feign’d a Letter as from the _Hague_, wherein was a Relation of this same _Bellmour’s_ being hang’d.

_Bel_. Is’t possible, Sir, you cou’d devise such News?

Sir _Feeb_. Possible, Man! I did it, I did it; she swooned at the News, shut her self up a whole Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she sigh’d and wept, and swore she’d never marry: still I presented; she hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered her Vows were cancell’d, since _Bellmour_ was hang’d.

_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then his Mistress.

Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou’rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_.

_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I’ve had Livery and Seisin of her Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this _Bellmour_ dares as well be hang’d as come into _England_.

_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you must know, got his Pardon already.

_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that’s some amends for robbing him of his Wife.

Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think ‘twas in kindness to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he’s defunct, trust up, hang’d, _Francis_.

_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?--

Sir _Feeb_. I’ve done’t, I’ve done’t; Pox on him, it cost me five hundred pounds though: Here ‘tis, my Solicitor brought it me this Evening. [_Gives it him_.

_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang’d by a Trick indeed. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe.

_Bel_. Safe, I’ll warrant you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t’other Sleeve, Man--so now my Night-cap; well, I’ll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women, and jump into her Arms. [_Exit Sir_ Feeble.

_Bel_. He’s gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

_Enter a Footman_.

_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for’t.

_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it shall be sent him in the Morning.

_Foot_. ‘Tis very well, Sir--your Servant-- [_Exit_ Footman.

_Bel_. Let me see--here is the Watch, I took it up to keep for him--but his sending has inspir’d me with a sudden Stratagem, that will do better than Force, to secure the poor trembling _Leticia_--who, I am sure, is dying with her Fears.

[_Exit_ Bellmour.