[_As she is at the Toilet, he looks over her shoulder, and sees her Face in the Glass_. _Let_. Go you first, Sir, I will but stay to say my Prayers, which are that Heaven wou’d deliver me. [_Aside_. Sir _Feeb_. Say thy Prayers!--What, art thou mad! Prayers upon thy Wedding-night! a short Thanksgiving or so--but Prayers quoth a--’Sbobs, you’ll have time enough for that, I doubt-- _Le_. I am asham’d to undress before you, Sir; go to Bed-- Sir _Feeb_. What, was it asham’d to shew its little white Foots, and its little round Bubbies--well, I’ll go, I’ll go--I cannot think on’t, no I cannot-- [_Going towards the Bed_, Bellmour _comes forth from between the Curtains, his Coat off, his Shirt bloody, a Dagger in his hand, and his Disguise off_. _Bel_. Stand-- Sir _Feeb_. Ah-- _Let_. and _Phil_. [_squeak_]--Oh, Heavens! --why, is it _Bellmour_? [_Aside to_ Phil. _Bel_. Go not to Bed, I guard this sacred Place, And the Adulterer dies that enters here. Sir _Feeb_. Oh--why do I shake?--sure I’m a Man, what art thou? _Bel_. I am the wrong’d, the lost and murder’d _Bellmour_. Sir _Feeb_. O Lord! it is the same I saw last night--Oh!--hold thy dread Vengeance--pity me, and hear me--Oh! a Parson--a Parson--what shall I do--Oh! where shall I hide my self? _Bel_. I’th’ utmost Borders of the Earth I’ll find thee-- Seas shall not hide thee, nor vast Mountains guard thee: Even in the depth of Hell I’ll find thee out, And lash thy filthy and adulterous Soul. Sir _Feeb_. Oh! I am dead, I’m dead; will no Repentence save me? ‘twas that young Eye that tempted me to sin; Oh!-- _Bel_. See, fair Seducer, what thou’st made me do; Look on this bleeding Wound, it reach’d my Heart, To pluck my dear tormenting Image thence, When News arriv’d that thou hadst broke thy Vow. Sir _Feeb_. Oh Lord! oh! I’m glad he’s dead though. _Let_. Oh, hide that fatal Wound, my tender Heart faints with a Sight so horrid! [_Seems to Weep_. Sir _Feeb_. So, she’ll clear her self, and leave me in the Devil’s Clutches. _Bel_. You’ve both offended Heaven, and must repent or die. Sir _Feeb_. Ah,--I do confess I was an old Fool,--bewitcht with Beauty, besotted with Love, and do repent most heartily. _Bel_. No, you had rather yet go on in Sin: Thou wou’dst live on, and be a baffled Cuckold. Sir _Feeb_. Oh, not for the World, Sir! I am convinc’d and mortifi’d. _Bel_. Maintain her fine, undo thy Peace to please her, and still be Cuckol’d on,--believe her,--trust her, and be Cuckol’d still. Sir _Feeb_. I see my Folly--and my Age’s Dotage--and find the Devil was in me--yet spare my Age--ah! spare me to repent. _Bel_. If thou repent’st, renounce her, fly her sight;-- Shun her bewitching Charms, as thou wou’dst Hell, Those dark eternal Mansions of the dead-- Whither I must descend. Sir _Feeb_. Oh--wou’d he were gone!-- _Bel_. Fly--be gone--depart, vanish for ever from her to some more safe and innocent Apartment. Sir _Feeb_. Oh, that’s very hard!--