L. _Ful_. I have a Key already to his Counting-House; it being lost, he had another made, and this I found and kept. _Bred_. Madam, this is an excellent time for’t, my Master being gone to give my Sister _Leticia_ at Church. L. _Ful_. ‘Tis so, I’ll go and commit the Theft, whilst you prepare to carry it, and then we’ll to dinner with your Sister the Bride. [_Exeunt_. SCENE III. _The House of Sir_ Feeble. _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _Sir_ Cautious, Bearjest, Diana, Noisey. _Sir_ Feeble _sings and salutes ‘em_. Sir _Feeb_. Welcome, _Joan Sanderson_, welcome, welcome. [_Kisses the Bride_. Ods bobs, and so thou art, Sweet-heart. [_So to the rest_. _Bear_. Methinks my Lady Bride is very melancholy. Sir _Cau_. Ay, ay, Women that are discreet, are always thus upon their Wedding-day. Sir _Feeb_. Always by day-light, Sir _Cautious_. _But when bright_ Phoebus _does retire, To_ Thetis’ _Bed to quench his fire. And do the thing we need not name, We Mortals by his influence do the same. Then then the blushing Maid lays by Her simpering, and her Modesty; And round the Lover clasps and twines Like Ivy, or the circling Vines_. Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Ralph_, the Bottle, Rogue, of Sack, ye Rascal; hadst thou been a Butler worth hanging, thou wou’dst have met us at the door with it.--Ods bods, Sweet-heart, thy health. _Bear_. Away with it, to the Bride’s _Haunce in Kelder_. Sir _Feeb_. Gots so, go to, Rogue, go to, that shall be, Knave, that shall be the morrow morning; he--ods bobs, we’ll do’t, Sweet heart; here’s to’t. [_Drinks again_. _Let_. I die but to imagine it, wou’d I were dead indeed. Sir _Feeb_. Hah--hum--how’s this? Tears upon the Wedding day? Why, why--you Baggage, you, ye little Thing, Fools-face--away, you Rogue, you’re naughty, you’re naughty. [_Patting and playing, and following her_. Look--look--look now,--buss it--buss it--buss it--and Friends; did’ums, did’ums beat its none silly Baby--away, you little Hussey, away, and pledge me-- [_She drinks a little_. Sir _Cau_. A wise discreet Lady, I’ll warrant her; my Lady would prodigally have took it off all. Sir _Feeb_. Dear’s its nown dear Fubs; buss again, buss again, away, away--ods bobs, I long for Night--look, look, Sir _Cautious_, what an Eye’s there! Sir _Cau_. Ay, so there is, Brother, and a modest Eye too. Sir _Feeb_. Adad, I love her more and more, _Ralph_--call old _Susan_ hither--come, Mr. _Bearjest_, put the Glass about. Ods bobs, when I was a young Fellow, I wou’d not let the young Wenches look pale and wan--but would rouse ‘em, and touse ‘em, and blowze ‘em, till I put a colour in their Cheeks, like an Apple _John_, affacks--Nay, I can make a shift still, and Pupsey shall not be jealous. _Enter_ Susan, _Sir_ Feeble _whispers her, she goes out_. _Let_. Indeed, not I; Sir. I shall be all Obedience.