_Fop_. Not yet! a plague of this damn’d Widow: The Devil ow’d him an unlucky Cast, and has thrown it him to night. _Enter_ Wild, _in Rapture and Joy_. --Hah, dear _Tom_, art thou come? _Wild_. I saw how at her length she lay! I saw her rising Bosom bare! _Fop_. A Pox of her rising Bosom! My dear, let’s dress and about our Business. _Wild_. Her loose thin Robes, through which appear A Shape design’d for Love and Play! _Dres_. Sheart, Sir, is this a time for Rapture? ‘tis almost day. _Wild_. Ah, _Frank_, such a dear Night! _Dress_. A Pox of Nights, Sir, think of this and the Day to come: which I perceive you were too well employ’d to remember. _Wild_. The Day to come! Death, who cou’d be so dull in such dear Joys, To think of Time to come, or ought beyond ‘em! And had I not been interrupted by _Charles Meriwill_, who, getting drunk, had Courage enough to venture on an untimely Visit, I’d had no more power of returning, than committing Treason: But that conjugal Lover, who will needs be my Cuckold, made me then give him way, that he might give it me another time, and so unseen I got off. But come--my Disguise. [_Dresses_. _Dres_. All’s still and hush, as if Nature meant to favour our Design. _Wild_. ‘Tis well: and hark ye, my Friends, I’ll prescribe ye no Bounds, nor Moderation; for I have consider’d, if we modestly take nothing but the Writings,’.will be easy to suspect the Thief. _Fop_. Right; and since ‘tis for the securing our Necks, ‘tis lawful Prize--Sirrah, leave the Portmantle here. [_Exeunt as into the House_. _After a small time, Enter_ Jervice _undres’d, crying out, pursued by some of the Thieves_. _Jer_. Murder, Murder! Thieves, Murder! _Enter_ Wilding _with his Sword drawn_. _Wild_. A plague upon his Throat; set a Gag in’s Mouth and bind him, though he be my Uncle’s chief Pimp--so-- [_They bind and gag him_. _Enter_ Dresswell, _and_ Laboir. _Dres_. Well, we have bound all within hearing in their Beds, e’er they cou’d alarm their Fellows by crying out. _Wild_. ‘Tis well; come, follow me, like a kind Midnight-Ghost, I will conduct ye to the rich buried Heaps--this Door leads to my Uncle’s Apartment; I know each secret Nook conscious of Treasure. [_All go in, leaving_ Jervice _bound on the Stage_. _Enter_ Sensure _running half undressed, as from Sir_ Timothy’s _Chamber, with his Velvet-Coat on her Shoulders_. _Sen_. Help, help! Murder! Murder! [Dres. Lab. _and others pursue her_. _Dres_. What have we here, a Female bolted from Mr. Alderman’s Bed? [Holding a Lanthorn to his Face. _Sen_. Ah, mercy, Sir, alas, I am a Virgin. _Dres_. A Virgin! Gad and that may be, for any great Miracles the old Gentleman can do. _Sen_. Do! alas, Sir, I am none of the Wicked.