_Gay_. Now I being the Confident in your Amours, the Jack-go-between-- the civil Pimp or so--you left her in charge with me at your Departure. _Bel_. I did so. _Gay_. I saw her every day; and every day she paid the Tribute of a shower of Tears, to the dear Lord of all her Vows, young _Bellmour_: Till faith at last, for Reasons manifold, I slackt my daily Visits. _Bel_. And left her to Temptation--was that well done? _Gay_. Now must I afflict you and my self with a long tale of Causes why; Or be charg’d with want of Friendship. _Bel_. You will do well to clear that Point to me. _Gay_. I see you’re peevish, and you shall be humour’d.--You know my _Julia_ play’d me e’en such another Prank as your false one is going to play you, and married old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_ here i’th’ City; at which you know I storm’d, and rav’d, and swore, as thou wo’t now, and to as little purpose. There was but one way left, and that was cuckolding him. _Bel_. Well, that Design I left thee hot upon. _Gay_. And hotly have pursu’d it: Swore, wept, vow’d, wrote, upbraided, prayed and railed; then treated lavishly, and presented high--till, between you and I, _Harry_, I have presented the best part of Eight hundred a year into her Husband’s hands, in Mortgage. _Bel_. This is the Course you’d have me steer, I thank you. _Gay_. No, no, Pox on’t, all Women are not Jilts. Some are honest, and will give as well as take; or else there would not be so many broke i’th’ City. In fine, Sir, I have been in Tribulation, that is to say, Moneyless, for six tedious Weeks, without either Clothes, or Equipage to appear withal; and so not only my own Love-affair lay neglected--but thine too--and I am forced to pretend to my Lady, that I am i’th’ Country with a dying Uncle--from whom, if he were indeed dead, I expect two thousand a Year. _Bel_. But what’s all this to being here this Morning? _Gay_. Thus have I lain conceal’d like a Winter-Fly, hoping for some blest Sunshine to warm me into life again, and make me hover my flagging Wings; till the News of this Marriage (which fills the Town) made me crawl out this silent Hour, to upbraid the fickle Maid. _Bel_. Didst thou?--pursue thy kind Design. Get me to see her; and sure no Woman, even possest with a new Passion, Grown confident even to Prostitution, But when she sees the Man to whom she’s sworn so very--very much, will find Remorse and Shame. _Gay_. For your sake, though the day be broke upon us, And I’m undone, if seen--I’ll venture in-- [_Throws his Cloke over_. _Enter Sir_ Feeble Fainwou’d, _Sir_ Cautious Fulbank, Bearjest _and_ Noisey. [_Pass over the Stage, and go in_. Hah--see the Bridegroom! And with him my destin’d Cuckold, old Sir _Cautious Fulbank_.--Hah, what ail’st thou, Man? _Bel_. The Bridegroom! Like _Gorgon’s_ Head he’as turned me into Stone. _Gay_. _Gorgon’s_ Head--a Cuckold’s Head--’twas made to graft upon.