_Bel_. The Night is come, oh my _Leticia_! The longing Bridegroom hastens to his Bed; Whilst she with all the languishment of Love, And sad Despair, casts her fair Eyes on me, Which silently implore, I would deliver her. But how! ay, there’s the Question--hah-- [_Pausing_. I’ll get my self hid in her Bed-chamber-- And something I will do--may serve us yet-- If all my Arts should fail--I’ll have recourse [_Draws a dagger_. To this--and bear _Leticia_ off by force. --But see she comes-- _Enter Lady_ Fulbank, _Sir_ Cautious, _Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, Bearjest, Noisey, Gayman. _Exit_ Bellmour. Sir _Feeb_. Lights there, _Ralph_. And my Lady’s Coach there-- [Bearjest _goes to_ Gayman. _Bea_. Well, Sir, remember you have promised to grant me my diabolical Request, in shewing me the Devil-- _Gay_. I will not fail you, Sir. L. _Ful_. Madam, your Servant; I hope you’ll see no more Ghosts, Sir _Feeble_. Sir _Feeb_. No more of that, I beseech you, Madam: Prithee, Sir _Cautious_, take away your Wife--Madam, your Servant-- [_All go out after the Light_. --Come, _Lette, Lette_; hasten, Rogue, hasten to thy Chamber; away, here be the young Wenches coming-- [_Puts her out, he goes out_. _Enter_ Diana, _puts on her Hood and Scarf_. _Dia_. So--they are gone to Bed; and now for _Bredwel_ --the Coach waits, and I’ll take this opportunity. _Father, farewell--if you dislike my course, Blame the old rigid Customs of your Force_. [_Goes out_. SCENE II. _A Bed-chamber_. _Enter Sir_ Feeble, Leticia, _and_ Phillis. _Let_. Ah, _Phillis_! I am fainting with my Fears, Hast thou no comfort for me? [_He undresses to his Gown_. Sir _Feeb_. Why, what art doing there--fiddle fadling--adod, you young Wenches are so loth to come to--but when your hand’s in, you have no mercy upon us poor Husbands. _Let_. Why do you talk so, Sir? Sir _Feeb_. Was it anger’d at the Fool’s Prattle? tum a-me, tum a-me, I’ll undress it, effags, I will--Roguy. _Let_. You are so wanton, Sir, you make me blush--I will not go to bed, unless you’ll promise me-- Sir _Feeb_. No bargaining, my little Hussey--what, you’ll tie my hands behind me, will you? [_She goes to the Table_. _Let_.--What shall I do?--assist me, gentle Maid, Thy Eyes methinks put on a little hope. _Phil_. Take Courage, Madam--you guess right--be confident. Sir _Feeb_. No whispering, Gentlewoman--and putting Tricks into her head; that shall not cheat me of another Night--Look on that silly little round Chitty-face--look on those smiling roguish loving Eyes there--look--look how they laugh, twire, and tempt--he, Rogue--I’ll buss ‘em there, and here, and every where--ods bods--away, this is fooling and spoiling of a Man’s Stomach, with a bit here, and a bit there--to Bed--to Bed--