SET. And my relation; pray let her be respected accordingly. Well, honest Lucy, fare thee well. I think, you and I have been play-fellows off and on, any time this seven years. LUCY. Hold your prating. I’m thinking what vocation I shall follow while my spouse is planting laurels in the wars. BLUFF. No more wars, spouse, no more wars. While I plant laurels for my head abroad, I may find the branches sprout at home. HEART. Bellmour, I approve thy mirth, and thank thee. And I cannot in gratitude (for I see which way thou art going) see thee fall into the same snare out of which thou hast delivered me. BELL. I thank thee, George, for thy good intention; but there is a fatality in marriage, for I find I’m resolute. HEART. Then good counsel will be thrown away upon you. For my part, I have once escaped; and when I wed again, may she be—ugly, as an old bawd. VAIN. Ill-natured, as an old maid— BELL. Wanton, as a young widow— SHARP. And jealous, as a barren wife. HEART. Agreed. BELL. Well; ’midst of these dreadful denunciations, and notwithstanding the warning and example before me, I commit myself to lasting durance. BELIN. Prisoner, make much of your fetters. [_Giving her hand_.] BELL. Frank, will you keep us in countenance? VAIN. May I presume to hope so great a blessing? ARAM. We had better take the advantage of a little of our friend’s experience first. BELL. O’ my conscience she dares not consent, for fear he should recant. [_Aside_.] Well, we shall have your company to church in the morning. May be it may get you an appetite to see us fall to before you. Setter, did not you tell me?— SET. They’re at the door: I’ll call ’em in. A DANCE. BELL. Now set we forward on a journey for life. Come take your fellow-travellers. Old George, I’m sorry to see thee still plod on alone. HEART. With gaudy plumes and jingling bells made proud, The youthful beast sets forth, and neighs aloud. A morning-sun his tinselled harness gilds, And the first stage a down-hill greensward yields. But, oh— What rugged ways attend the noon of life! Our sun declines, and with what anxious strife, What pain we tug that galling load, a wife. All coursers the first heat with vigour run; But ’tis with whip and spur the race is won. [_Exeunt Omnes_.] EPILOGUE. Spoken by MRS. BARRY.