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Most assuredly, unless you have the courage to retrieve it. I'll set it at a Throw, or any way: what say you, Gentlemen? Sir Feeb. Ods bobs, you young Fellows are too hard for us every way, and I'm engag'd at an old Game with a new Gamester here, who will require all an old Man's stock. L. Ful. Come, Cousin, will you venture a Guinea? Come, Mr. Bredwel. Gay.
For shame of Modesty, Sir; you wou'd not have me go to Bed before all this Company. Sir Feeb. What, the Women! why, they must see you laid, 'tis the fashion. Let. What, with a Man? I wou'd not for the World. Dia. Nay, Madam, we shou'd see you laid indeed. Let. First in my Grave, Diana. Sir Feeb. Knocking. Hah who's that knocks who's there? Sir Feeb. Why, what's the matter, is the House o-fire?
Oh, Lord, Sir, die or live, 'tis all one for that, Sir I'll stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes. Pert. 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. L. Ful. Give you Joy, my dear Leticia! I find, Sir, you were resolved for Youth, Wit and Beauty. Sir Feeb.
Oh, swear a-new, Give me again thy Faith, thy Vows, thy Soul; For mine's so sick with this Day's fatal Business, It needs a Cordial of that mighty strength; Swear swear, so as if thou break'st Thou mayst be any thing but damn'd, Leticia. Let. Bel. Enter Sir Feeble, L. Fulbank, Sir Cautious. Sir Feeb. Lette, Lette, Lette, where are you, little Rogue, Lette? Hah hum what's here
I'th' utmost Borders of the Earth I'll find thee Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee: Even in the depth of Hell I'll find thee out, And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul. Sir Feeb. Oh! I am dead, I'm dead; will no Repentence save me? 'twas that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh! Bel.
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.
Sir Feeb. But wou'd a wise man expose his Wife? Sir Cau. Why, Cato was a wiser Man than I, and he lent his Wife to a young Fellow they call'd Hortensius, as Story says; and can a wise Man have a better Precedent than Cato? Sir Feeb. I say, Cato was an Ass, Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of 'em all. Sir Cau. But I am of Cato's mind. Well, a single Night you say. Gay.
It's a snap to be a high-grade feeb. Just look at Doctor Dalrymple. He has troubles. He holds his job by politics. You bet we high-graders talk politics. We know all about it, and it's bad. An institution like this oughtn't to be run on politics. Look at Doctor Dalrymple. He's been here two years and learned a lot.
Heavens, Sir, what makes you here in this warlike Equipage? Sir Feeb. What makes you in this showing Equipage, Sir? Bred. I have been dancing among some of my Friends. Sir Feeb. And I thought to have been fighting with some of my Friends. Where's Sir Cautious, where's Sir Cautious? Bred. Sir Cautious Sir, in Bed. Sir Feeb. Call him, call him quickly, good Edward. Bred.
Ha, ha, ha why this is the strangest thing to see an old Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he's married, forsake his Bride and Bed, and come arm'd Cap-a-pee, like Gargantua, to disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all to be-cuckold him here in plain English, what's your Business? Sir Feeb. Why, what the Devil's your Business, and you go to that?
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