_Enter_ Gayman _wrapt in his Cloke_. _Gay_. ‘Tis yet too early, but my Soul’s impatient, And I must see _Leticia_. [_Goes to the door_. _Bel_. Death and the Devil--the Bridegroom! Stay, Sir, by Heaven, you pass not this way. [_Goes to the door as he is knocking, pushes him away, and draws_. _Gay_. Hah! what art thou that durst forbid me Entrance?--Stand off. [_They fight a little, and closing view each other_. _Bel_. _Gayman_! _Gay_. My dearest _Bellmour_! _Bel_. Oh thou false Friend, thou treacherous base Deceiver! _Gay_. Hah, this to me, dear _Harry_? _Bel_. Whither is Honour, Truth and Friendship fled? _Gay_. Why, there ne’er was such a Virtue, ’.is all a Poet’s Dream. _Bel_. I thank you, Sir. _Gay_. I’m sorry for’t, or that ever I did any thing that could deserve it: put up your Sword--an honest man wou’d say how he’s offended, before he rashly draws. _Bel_. Are not you going to be married, Sir? _Gay_. No, Sir, as long as any Man in _London_ is so, that has but a handsom Wife, Sir. _Bel_. Are you not in love, Sir? _Gay_. Most damnably,--and wou’d fain lie with the dear jilting Gipsy. _Bel_. Hah, who would you lie with, Sir? _Gay_. You catechise me roundly--’tis not fair to name, but I am no Starter, _Harry_; just as you left me, you find me. I am for the faithless _Julia_ still, the old Alderman’s Wife.--’Twas high time the City should lose their Charter, when their Wives turn honest: But pray, Sir, answer me a Question or two. _Bel_. Answer me first, what makes you here this Morning? _Gay_. Faith, to do you service. Your damn’d little Jade of a Mistress has learned of her Neighbours the Art of Swearing and Lying in abundance, and is-- _Bel_. To be married! [Sighing. _Gay_. Even so, God save the Mark; and she’ll be a fair one for many an Arrow besides her Husband’s, though he an old _Finsbury_ Hero this threescore Years. _Bel_. Who mean you? _Gay_. Why, thy Cuckold that shall be, if thou be’st wise. _Bel_. Away; Who is this Man? thou dalliest with me. _Gay_. Why, an old Knight, and Alderman here o’th’ City, Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d_, a jolly old Fellow, whose Activity is all got into his Tongue, a very excellent Teazer; but neither Youth nor Beauty can grind his Dudgeon to an Edge. _Bel_. Fie, what Stuff’s here! _Gay_. Very excellent Stuff, if you have but the Grace to improve it. _Bel_. You banter me--but in plain _English_, tell me, What made you here thus early, Entring yon House with such Authority? _Gay_. Why, your Mistress _Leticia_, your contracted Wife, is this Morning to be married to old Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d_, induc’d to’t I suppose by the great Jointure he makes her, and the improbability of your ever gaining your Pardon for your high Duel--Do I speak _English_ now, Sir? _Bel_. Too well, would I had never heard thee.