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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.
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.
A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I'll sue you for Scandalum Magnatum; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury. Sir Feeb. I know of no such thing, Sir. Sir Cau. No, Sir? Sir Feeb. No, Sir. Sir Cau. Then what wou'd you be at, Sir? Sir Feeb. I be at, Sir! what wou'd you be at, Sir? Sir Cau.
Some day, mebbe, I'm going to talk with Doctor Dalrymple and get him to give me a declaration that I ain't a feeb. Then I'll get him to make me a real assistant in the drooling ward, with forty dollars a month and my board. And then I'll marry Miss Jones and live right on here. And if she won't have me, I'll marry Miss Kelsey or some other nurse. There's lots of them that want to get married.
The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed; Whilst she with all the languishment of Love, And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me, Which silently implore, I would deliver her. To this and bear Leticia off by force. But see she comes Enter Lady Fulbank, Sir Cautious, Sir Feeble, Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. Exit Bellmour. Sir Feeb. Lights there, Ralph. And my Lady's Coach there Bea.
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. 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.
Ay, that's true, that's true; come truss again, Francis, truss again yet now I think on't, Francis, prithee run thee to the Hall, and tell 'em 'tis my Wedding-night, d'ye see, Francis; and let some body give my Voice for Bel. What, Sir? Sir Feeb. Adod, I cannot tell; up in Arms, say you! why, let 'em fight Dog, fight Bear; mun, I'll to Bed go Let.
Oh! that's the business of another day, a mistake only, Madam. L. Ful. Away, I'm asham'd to see wise Men so weak; the Fantoms of the Night, or your own Shadows, the Whimseys of the Brain for want of Rest, or perhaps Bredwel, your Man who being wiser than his Master, play'd you this Trick to fright you both to Bed. Sir Feeb.
Sir Feeb. Bel. 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. 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.
Sir, she's a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir. Pert. All. A plain Case, a plain Case. Sir Feeb. Bred. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing Sir Feeb. You will ha't, whether I will or not rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew Sir Cau. Well, Sir, I will but all this while you little think the Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed. Sir Feeb.
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