_Sum._ They being fast, I cou'd not get 'em off without some Harm and Pain to her: which for the _Indies_ I'd not have done. And she, in answer to my Civility, brought me home, and ransom'd them with the full Price in Gold, (with which I made my Venture) and the more to hide my Shame, she honour'd me with the Title of her Kinsman. _Mer._ Ay, ay, and so she might well; for she was a little cunning Thief too, to steal the Gold she gave you from her Husband; 'twas all his now, but that's no matter, proceed. _Sum._ The rest you know already, Sir. _Mer._ Ay, so I do, ods bobs I do, thy Valour my brave Boy, thy Valour, for which I'll do for thee, that thou shalt never need to rob again I warrant thee; ods bobs I will. But come, come, we lose time, for we have another Wedding yet to be perform'd, but that shall be done within. Sum. _Then farewel all ye treacherous Paths of Vice, Which lead Men blindfold to their End, In time like me repent you that are wise, And by Restraint your vicious Courses end._ Ara. _Were I to ask of Heaven its greatest Bliss On Earth, it cou'd bestow not one like this. After a Storm the Sun still shines most bright, And from the Chaos sprung the purer Light._ Bon. _A Day like this sure yet has never been, Wherein such various Changes e're were seen. Fortune to Day that work'd my Overthrow, Has made me happy in a Minute now. Bless'd with a vertuous Wife my Days I'll spend, And ne're trust Man, lest I mistake my Friend._ EPILOGUE, Spoke by the City-Bride. _You met with good Intention to be witty, And rally the Grave Cuckolds of the City; But disappointed of your Recreation, I in your Looks can read the Play's Damnation. Lord! how ye stare to find an honest Bride, A thing you think a Monster in_ Cheapside. _Whither you boast that you so often come, And leave your footmen to perform at home. Yet 'tis no little Comfort t' us howe're, You oftner bring th' Estate than get the Heir. Unjustly therefore you your Fortune blame, She's kinder to your Blood that to your Name._ _After all this, I know you think it Pity, That I shou'd break the Custom of the City: I hear a Beau cry, 'tis some damn'd Mistaker; A_ Cheap-side _Vertue, City Cuckold maker. This is a Fault no Gentleman can pardon, It gives_ Cheapside _the Sins of_ Covent-Garden: _We must refine on Vice, and take new Measures, Since dull chain'd Cits invade our darling Pleasures._ _Take my Advice, employ at home your Backs, Or_ Locket's _Revels may revenge_ Pontack's: _This Cuckolding to you's a losing Trade, That pay for making, and for being made. The Ladies will my Character excuse, And not condemn a Vertue which they use._