Sir _Feeb_. Why, thou’rt an honest Fellow, _Francis_,--and thou’rt heartily welcome--and I’ll make thee fortunate. But come, Sir _Cautious_, let you and I take a turn i’th’ Garden, and get a right understanding between your Nephew Mr. _Bearjest_, and my Daughter _Dye_. Sir _Cau_. Prudently thought on, Sir, I’ll wait on you.-- [_Ex. Sir_ Feeble, _and Sir_ Cautious. _Bea_. You are a Traveller, I understand. _Bel_. I have seen a little part of the World, Sir. _Bea_. So have I, Sir, I thank my Stars, and have performed most of my Travels on Foot, Sir. _Bel_. You did not travel far then, I presume, Sir? _Bea_. No, Sir, it was for my diversion indeed; but I assure you, I travell’d into _Ireland_ a-foot, Sir. _Bel_. Sure, Sir, you go by shipping into _Ireland_? _Bea_. That’s all one, Sir, I was still a-foot, ever walking on the Deck. _Bel_. Was that your farthest Travel, Sir? _Bea_. Farthest--why, that’s the End of the World--and sure a Man can go no farther. _Bel_. Sure, there can be nothing worth a Man’s Curiosity? _Bea_. No, Sir, I’ll assure you, there are the Wonders of the World, Sir: I’ll hint you this one. There is a Harbour which since the Creation was never capable of receiving a Lighter, yet by another Miracle the King of _France_ was to ride there with a vast Fleet of Ships, and to land a hundred thousand Men. _Bel_. This is a swinging Wonder--but are there store of Mad-men there, Sir? _Bea_. That’s another Rarity to see a Man run out of his Wits. _Noi_. Marry, Sir, the wiser they I say. _Bea_. Pray, Sir, what store of Miracles have you at _St. Omers?_ _Bel_. None, Sir, since that of the wonderful _Salamanca_ Doctor, who was both here and there at the same Instant of time. _Bea_. How, Sir? why, that’s impossible. _Bel_. That was the Wonder, Sir, because ‘twas impossible. _Noi_. But ‘twas a greater, Sir, that ‘twas believed. _Enter L_. Fulb. _and_ Pert, _Sir_ Cau. _and Sir_ Feeb. Sir _Feeb_. Enough, enough, Sir _Cautious_, we apprehend one another. Mr. _Bearjest_, your Uncle here and I have struck the Bargain, the Wench is yours with three thousand Pound present, and something more after Death, which your Uncle likes well. _Bea_. Does he so, Sir? I’m beholding to him; then ‘tis not a Pin matter whether I like or not, Sir. Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir, not like my Daughter _Dye_? _Bea_. Oh, Lord, Sir,--die or live, ‘tis all one for that, Sir--I’ll stand to the Bargain my Uncle makes. _Pert_. Will you so, Sir? you’ll have very good luck if you do. [_Aside_. _Bea_. Prithee hold thy Peace, my Lady’s Woman. L. _Ful_. Sir, I beg your pardon for not waiting on you to Church-- I knew you wou’d be private. _Enter_ Let_. fine in Jewels_. Sir _Feeb_. You honour us too highly now, Madam. [_Presents his Wife, who salutes her_.