Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha--why this is the strangest thing--to see an old Fellow, a Magistrate of the City, the first Night he’s married, forsake his Bride and Bed, and come arm’d Cap-a-pee, like _Gargantua_, to disturb another old Fellow, and banter him with a Tale of a Tub; and all to be-cuckold him here--in plain _English_, what’s your Business? Sir _Feeb_. Why, what the Devil’s your Business, and you go to that? Sir _Cau_. My Business, with whom? Sir _Feeb_. With me, Sir, with me; what a Pox do you think I do here? Sir _Cau_. ‘Tis that I wou’d be glad to know, Sir. _Enter _Dick. Sir _Feeb_. Here, _Dick_, remember I’ve brought back your Master’s Watch; next time he sends for me o’er Night, I’ll come to him in the Morning. Sir _Cau_. Ha, ha, ha, I send for you! Go home and sleep, Sir--Ad, and ye keep your Wife waking to so little purpose, you’ll go near to be haunted with a Vision of Horns. [_Exit_ Dick. Sir _Feeb_. Roguery, Knavery, to keep me from my Wife--Look ye, this was the Message I receiv’d. [_Tells him seemingly_. _Enter_ Bredwel _to the Door in a white Sheet like a Ghost, speaking to_ Gayman _who stands within_. _Bred_. Now, Sir, we are two to two, for this way you must pass or be taken in the Lady’s Lodgings--I’ll first adventure out to make you pass the safer, and that he may not, if possible, see Sir _Cautious_, whom I shall fright into a Trance, I am sure. And Sir _Feeble_, the Devil’s in’t if he know him. [_Aside_. _Gay_. A brave kind Fellow this. _Enter_ Bredwel _stalking on as a Ghost by them_. Sir _Cau_. Oh--undone,--undone; help, help;--I’m dead, I’m dead. [_Falls down on his Face; Sir_ Feeble _stares,--and stands still_. _Bred_. As I could wish. [_Aside, turns_. Come on, thou ghastly thing, and follow me. _Enter_ Gayman _like a Ghost, with a Torch_. Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord, oh Lord! _Gay_. Hah!--old Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d_--why, where the Devil am I? --’Tis he:--and be it where it will, I’ll fright the old Dotard for cozening my Friend of his Mistress. [_Stalks on_. Sir _Feeb_. Oh, guard me,--guard me--all ye Pow’rs! [_Trembling_. _Gay_. Thou call’st in vain, fond Wretch--for I am _Bellmour_, _Whom first thou robb’st of Fame and Life, And then what dearer was,--his Wife_. [_Goes out, shaking his Torch at him_. Sir _Cau_. Oh Lord--oh Lord! _Enter L_. Fulbank _in an undress, and_ Pert _undrest. L. _Ful_. Heavens, what noise is this?--So he’s got safe out I see--hah, what thing art thou? [_Sees Sir _Feeble_ arm’d_. Sir _Feeb_. Stay, Madam, stay--’tis I, a poor trembling Mortal. L. _Ful_. Sir _Feeble Fainwou’d!_--rise,--are you both mad? Sir _Cau_. No, no,--Madam, we have seen the Devil. Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and he was as tall as the Monument. Sir _Cau_. With Eyes like a Beacon--and a Mouth,--Heaven bless us, like _London_ Bridge at a full Tide. Sir _Feeb_. Ay, and roar’d as loud.