Sir _Feeb_. I know him--what, do you take me for a Pimp, Sir? I know him--there’s your Watch again, Sir; I’m your Friend, but no Pimp, Sir-- [_Rises in Rage_. Sir _Cau_. My Watch; I thank you, Sir--but why Pimp, Sir? Sir _Feeb_. Oh, a very thriving Calling, Sir,--and I have a young Wife to practise with. I know your Rogues. Sir _Cau_. A young Wife!--’tis so, his Gentlewoman has been at Hot-Cockles without her Husband, and he’s Horn-mad upon’t. I suspected her being so close in with his Nephew--in a Fit with a Pox--[_Aside_.] Come, come, Sir _Feeble_, ‘tis many an honest Man’s Fortune. Sir _Feeb_. I grant it, Sir--but to the business, Sir, I came for. Sir _Cau_. With all my Soul-- [_They sit gaping, and expecting when either should speak. Enter_ Bredwel _and_ Gayman _at the door_. Bredwel _sees them, and puts_ Gayman_ back again_. _Bred_. Hah--Sir _Feeble_, and Sir _Cautious_ there--what shall I do? For this way we must pass, and to carry him back wou’d discover my Lady to him, betray all, and spoil the Jest--retire, Sir, your Life depends upon your being unseen. [_Go out_. Sir _Feeb_. Well, Sir, do you not know that I am married, Sir? and this my Wedding Night? Sir _Cau_. Very good, Sir. Sir _Feeb_. And that I long to be in bed? Sir _Cau_. Very well, Sir. Sir _Feeb_. Very good, Sir, and very well, Sir--why then what the Devil do I make here, Sir? [_Rises in a rage_. Sir _Cau_. Patience, Brother--and forward. Sir _Feeb_. Forward! lend me your hand, good Brother; let’s feel your Pulse; how has this Night gone with you? Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--this is the oddest Quonudrum--sure he’s mad--and yet now I think on’t, I have not slept to night, nor shall I ever sleep again, till I have found the Villain that robb’d me. [_Weeps_. Sir _Feeb_. So, now he weeps--far gone--this Laughing and Weeping is a very bad sign! [_Aside_.] Come, let me lead you to your Bed. Sir _Cau_. Mad, stark mad--no, now I’m up ‘tis no matter--pray ease your troubled Mind--I am your Friend--out with it--what, was it acted? or but designed? Sir _Feeb_. How, Sir? Sir _Cau_. Be not asham’d, I’m under the same Premunire I doubt, little better than a--but let that pass. Sir _Feeb_. Have you any Proof? Sir _Cau_. Proof of what, good Sir? Sir _Feeb_. Of what! why, that you’re a Cuckold; Sir, a Cuckold, if you’ll ha’t. Sir _Cau_. Cuckold! Sir, do ye know what ye say? Sir _Feeb_. What I say? Sir _Cau_. Ay, what you say, can you make this out? Sir _Feeb_. I make it out! Sir _Cau_. Ay, Sir--if you say it, and cannot make it out, you’re a-- Sir _Feeb_. What am I, Sir? What am I? Sir _Cau_. A Cuckold as well as my self, Sir; and I’ll sue you for _Scandalum Magnatum_; I shall recover swinging Damages with a City-Jury. Sir _Feeb_. I know of no such thing, Sir. Sir _Cau_. No, Sir? Sir _Feeb_. No, Sir. Sir _Cau_. Then what wou’d you be at, Sir? Sir _Feeb_. I be at, Sir! what wou’d you be at, Sir?