Sir _Cau_. Six and five’s Eleven-- [_Throws, and pulls the Hat towards him_. _Gay_. Cater Tray--Pox of the Dice-- Sir _Cau_. Two fives--one and twenty-- [_Sets up, pulls the Hat nearer_. _Gay_. Now, Luck--Doublets of sixes--nineteen. Sir _Cau_. Five and four--thirty-- [_Draws the Hat to him_. Sir _Feeb_. Now if he wins it, I’ll swear he has a Fly indeed--’tis impossible without Doublets of sixes-- _Gay_, Now Fortune smile--and for the future frown. [_Throws_. Sir _Cau_.--Hum--two sixes-- [_Rises and looks dolefully round_. L. _Ful_. How now? what’s the matter you look so like an Ass, what have you lost? Sir _Cau_. A Bauble--a Bauble--’tis not for what I’ve lost--but because I have not won-- Sir _Feeb_. You look very simple, Sir--what think you of _Cato_ now? Sir _Cau_. A wise Man may have his failings-- L. _Ful_. What has my Husband lost?-- Sir _Cau_. Only a small parcel of Ware that lay dead upon my hands, Sweet-heart. _Gay_. But I shall improve ‘em, Madam, I’ll warrant you. L. _Ful_. Well, since ‘tis no worse, bring in your fine Dancer, Cousin, you say you brought to entertain your Mistress with. [Bearjest _goes out_. _Gay_. Sir, you’ll take care to see me paid to Night? Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir--but my Lady, you must know, Sir, has the common frailties of her Sex, and will refuse what she even longs for, if persuaded to’t by me. _Gay_. ‘Tis not in my Bargain to sollicit her, Sir, you are to procure her--or three hundred pounds, Sir; chuse you whether. Sir _Cau_. Procure her! with all my soul, Sir; alas, you mistake my honest meaning, I scorn to be so unjust as not to see you a-bed together; and then agree as well as you can, I have done my part--In order to this, Sir--get but your self conveyed in a Chest to my house, with a Direction upon’t for me; and for the rest-- _Gay_. I understand you. Sir _Feeb_. _Ralph_, get supper ready. _Enter_ Bea. _with Dancers; all go out but Sir_ Cautious. Sir _Cau_. Well, I must break my Mind, if possible, to my Lady--but if she shou’d be refractory now--and make me pay Three hundred Pounds--why, sure she won’t have so little Grace--Three hundred Pounds sav’d, is three hundred pounds got--by our account--Cou’d All-- _Who of this City-Privilege are free, Hope to be paid for Cuckoldom like me; Th’unthriving Merchant, whom gray Hair adorns, Before all Ventures wou’d ensure his Horns; For thus, while he but lets spare Rooms to hire, His Wife’s cracked Credit keeps his own entire_. [_Exit_. ACT V. SCENE I. _Sir_ Cautious _his House_. _Enter_ Bellmour _alone, sad_.