_Bel_. By Heaven, I’ll seize her even at the Altar, And bear her thence in Triumph. _Gay_. Ay, and be borne to _Newgate_ in Triumph, and be hanged in Triumph--’twill be cold Comfort, celebrating your Nuptials in the Press-Yard, and be wak’d next Morning, like Mr. _Barnardine_ in the Play--Will you please to rise and be hanged a little, Sir? _Bel_. What wouldst thou have me do? _Gay_. As many an honest Man has done before thee--Cuckold him-- cuckold him. _Bel_. What--and let him marry her! She that’s mine by sacred Vows already! By Heaven, it would be flat Adultery in her! _Gay_. She’ll learn the trick, and practise it the better with thee. _Bel_. Oh Heavens! _Leticia_ marry him! and lie with him!-- Here will I stand and see this shameful Woman, See if she dares pass by me to this Wickedness. _Gay_. Hark ye, _Harry_--in earnest have a care of betraying your self; and do not venture sweet Life for a fickle Woman, who perhaps hates you. _Bel_. You counsel well--but yet to see her married! How every thought of that shocks all my Resolution!-- But hang it, I’ll be resolute and saucy, Despise a Woman who can use me ill, And think my self above her. _Gay_. Why, now thou art thy self--a Man again. But see, they’re coming forth, now stand your ground. _Enter Sir_ Feeble, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Noisey, Leticia _sad_, Diana, Phillis. [_Pass over the Stage_. _Bel_. ‘Tis she; support me, _Charles_, or I shall sink to Earth, --Methought in passing by she cast a scornful glance at me; Such charming Pride I’ve seen upon her Eyes, When our Love-Quarrels arm’d ‘em with Disdain-- I’ll after ‘em, if I live she shall not ‘scape me. [_Offers to go_, Gay. _holds him_. _Gay_. Hold, remember you’re proscribed, And die if you are taken. _Bel_. I’ve done, and I will live, but he shall ne’er enjoy her. --Who’s yonder, _Ralph_, my trusty Confident? _Enter_ Ralph. Now though I perish I must speak to him. --Friend, what Wedding’s this? _Ral_. One that was never made in Heaven, Sir; ’.is Alderman _Fainwou’d_, and Mrs. _Leticia Bredwel_. _Bel_. Bredwel--I have heard of her,--she was Mistress-- _Ral_. To fine Mr. _Bellmour_, Sir,--ay, there was a Gentleman --But rest his Soul--he’s hang’d, Sir. [_Weeps_. _Bel_. How! hang’d? _Ral_. Hang’d, Sir, hang’d--at the _Hague_ in _Holland_. _Gay_. I heard some such News, but did not credit it. _Bel_. For what, said they, was he hang’d? _Ral_. Why, e’en for High Treason, Sir, he killed one of their Kings. _Gay_. Holland’s a Commonwealth, and is not rul’d by Kings. _Ral_. Not by one, Sir, but by a great many; this was a Cheesemonger --they fell out over a Bottle of Brandy, went to Snicker Snee; Mr. _Bellmour_ cut his Throat, and was hang’d for’t, that’s all, Sir. _Bel_. And did the young Lady believe this?