L. _Ful_. Or make most filthy Verses of me-- Under the name of _Cloris_--you _Philander_, Who in leud Rhimes confess the dear Appointment; What Hour, and where, how silent was the Night, How full of Love your Eyes, and wishing mine. Faith, no; if you can afford me a Lease of your Love, Till the old Gentleman my Husband depart this wicked World, I’m for the Bargain. Sir _Cau_. Hum--what’s here, a young Spark at my Wife? [_Goes about ‘em_. _Gay_. Unreasonable _Julia_, is that all, My Love, my Sufferings, and my Vows must hope? Set me an Age--say when you will be kind, And I will languish out in starving Wish: But thus to gape for Legacies of Love, Till Youth be past Enjoyment, The Devil I will as soon--farewel. [_Offers to go_. L. _Ful_. Stay, I conjure you stay. _Gay_. And lose my Assignation with my Devil. [_Aside_. Sir _Cau_. ‘Tis so, ay, ay, ‘tis so--and wise Men will perceive it; ‘tis here--here in my forehead, it more than buds; it sprouts, it flourishes. Sir _Feeb_. So, that young Gentleman has nettled him, stung him to the quick: I hope he’ll chain her up--the Gad-Bee’s in his Quonundrum--in Charity I’ll relieve him--Come, my Lady _Fulbank_, the Night grows old upon our hands; to dancing, to jiggiting--Come, shall I lead your Ladyship? L. _Ful_. No, Sir, you see I am better provided-- [_Takes_ Gayman’s _hand_. Sir _Cau_. Ay, no doubt on’t, a Pox on him for a young handsome Dog. [_They dance all_. Sir _Feeb_. Very well, very well, now the Posset; and then--ods bobs, and then-- _Dia_. And then we’ll have t’other Dance. Sir _Feeb_. Away, Girls, away, and steal the Bride to Bed; they have a deal to do upon their Wedding-nights; and what with the tedious Ceremonies of dressing and undressing, the smutty Lectures of the Women, by way of Instruction, and the little Stratagems of the young Wenches --odds bobs, a Man’s cozen’d of half his Night: Come, Gentlemen, one Bottle, and then--we’ll toss the Stocking. [_Exeunt all but L_. Ful. Bred, _who are talking, and_ Gayman. L. _Ful_. But dost thou think he’ll come? _Bred_. I do believe so, Madam-- L. _Ful_. Be sure you contrive it so, he may not know whither, or to whom he comes. _Bred_. I warrant you, Madam, for our Parts. [_Exit_ Bredwel, _stealing out_ Gayman. L. _Ful_. How now, what, departing? _Gay_. You are going to the Bride-Chamber. L. _Ful_. No matter, you shall stay-- _Gay_. I hate to have you in a Croud. L. _Ful_. Can you deny me--will you not give me one lone hour i’th’ Garden? _Gay_. Where we shall only tantalize each other with dull kissing, and part with the same Appetite we met--No, Madam; besides, I have business-- L. _Ful_. Some Assignation--is it so indeed? _Gay_. Away, you cannot think me such a Traitor; ‘tis more important business--