_Lady Fan._ Your Mirth's as nauseous as yourself. _Belinda_, you think you triumph over a Rival now: _Helas! ma pauvre fille._ Where'er I'm Rival, there's no Cause for Mirth. No, my poor Wretch, 'tis from another Principle I have acted. I knew that Thing there wou'd make so perverse a Husband, and you so impertinent a Wife, that left your mutual Plagues should make you both run mad, I charitably would have broke the Match. He! he! he! he! he! [_Exit, laughing affectedly, ~Madamoiselle~ following her._ _Madam._ He! he! he! he! he! _All._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! _Sir John._ [_Aside._] Why, now, this Woman will be married to somebody, too. _Bel._ Poor Creature! what a Passion she's in! But I forgive her. _Heart._ Since you have so much Goodness for her, I hope you'll pardon my Offence, too, Madam. _Bel._ There will be no great Difficulty in that, since I am guilty of an equal Fault. _Heart._ Then Pardons being past on all sides, pray let's to Church to conclude the Day's Work. _Const._ But before you go, let me treat you, pray, with a Song a new-married Lady made within this Week; it may be of use to you both. SONG. I. _When yielding first to ~Damon's~ Flame, I sunk into his Arms; He swore he'd ever be the same, Then rifled all my Charms. But fond of what he'd long desir'd, Too greedy of his Prey, My Shepherd's Flame, alas! expir'd Before the Verge of Day._ II. _My Innocence in Lovers Wars Reproach'd his quick Defeat; Confus'd, asham'd, and bath'd in Tears, I mourn'd his cold Retreat. At length, Ah Shepherdess! cry'd he, Wou'd you my Fire renew, Alas, you must retreat like me, I'm lost if you pursue._ _Heart._ So, Madam; now had the Parson but done his Business---- _Bel._ You'd be half weary of your Bargain. _Heart._ No, sure, I might dispense with one Night's Lodging. _Bel._ I'm ready to try, Sir. _Heart._ Then let's to Church: And if it be our Chance to disagree---- _Bel._ Take heed--the surly Husband's Fate you see. [_Exeunt omnes._ [Illustration] EPILOGUE, By Another Hand. Spoken by Lady =Brute= and =Belinda=. Lady Brute. _No Epilogue_! _Belinda._ _I swear I know of none._ } _Lord! How shall we excuse it to the Town?_ } _Bel._ _Why, we must e'en say something of our own._ } Lady Brute. _Our own! Ay, that must needs be precious stuff._ _Bel._ _I'll lay my Life, they'll like it well enough. Come, faith, begin----_ Lady Brute. _Excuse me, after you._ _Bel._ _Nay, pardon me for that, I know my Cue._ Lady Brute. _O for the World, I would not have Precedence._ _Bel._ _O Lord!_ Lady Brute. _I swear----_ _Bel._ _O fye!_