Sir _Feeb_. Hah, Ghost--another Sight would make me mad indeed. _Bel_. Behold me, Sir, I have no Terror now. Sir _Feeb_. Hah--who’s that, _Francis!_--my Nephew _Francis_? _Bel_. _Bellmour_, or _Francis_, chuse you which you like, and I am either. Sir _Feeb_. Hah, _Bellmour!_ and no Ghost? _Bel. Bellmour_--and not your Nephew, Sir. Sir _Feeb_. But art alive? Ods bobs, I’m glad on’t, Sirrah;--But are you real, _Bellmour_? _Bel_. As sure as I’m no Ghost. _Gay_. We all can witness for him, Sir. Sir _Feeb_. Where be the Minstrels, we’ll have a Dance--adod, we will --Ah--art thou there, thou cozening little Chits-face?--a Vengeance on thee--thou madest mean old doting loving Coxcomb--but I forgive thee--and give thee all thy Jewels, and you your Pardon, Sir, so you’ll give me mine; for I find you young Knaves will be too hard for us. _Bel_. You are so generous, Sir, that ‘tis almost with grief I receive the Blessing of _Leticia_. Sir _Feeb_. No, no, thou deservest her; she would have made an old fond Blockhead of me, and one way or other you wou’d have had her--ods bobs, you wou’d-- _Enter_ Bearjest, Diana, Pert, Bredwel, _and_ Noisey. _Bea_. Justice, Sir, Justice--I have been cheated--abused--assassinated and ravisht! Sir _Cau_. How, my Nephew ravisht!-- _Pert_. No, Sir, I am his Wife. Sir _Cau_. Hum--my Heir marry a Chamber-maid! _Bea_. Sir, you must know I stole away Mrs. _Dy_, and brought her to _Ned’s_ Chamber here--to marry her. Sir _Feeb_. My Daughter _Dy_ stoln-- _Bea_. But I being to go to the Devil a little, Sir, whip--what does he, but marries her himself, Sir; and fob’d me off here with my Lady’s cast Petticoat-- _Noi_. Sir, she’s a Gentlewoman, and my Sister, Sir. _Pert_. Madam, ‘twas a pious Fraud, if it were one; for I was contracted to him before--see, here it is-- [_Gives it ‘em_. _All_. A plain Case, a plain Case. Sir _Feeb_. Harkye, Sir, have you had the Impudence to marry my Daughter, Sir? [_To_ Bredwel, _who with_ Diana _kneels_. _Bred_. Yes, Sir, and humbly ask your Pardon, and your Blessing-- Sir _Feeb_. You will ha’t, whether I will or not--rise, you are still too hard for us: Come, Sir, forgive your Nephew-- Sir _Cau_. Well, Sir, I will--but all this while you little think the Tribulation I am in, my Lady has forsworn my Bed. Sir _Feeb_. Indeed, Sir, the wiser she. Sir _Cau_. For only performing my Promise to this Gentleman. Sir _Feeb_. Ay, you showed her the Difference, Sir; you’re a wise man. Come, dry your Eyes--and rest your self contented, we are a couple of old Coxcombs; d’ye Hear, Sir, Coxcombs. Sir _Cau_. I grant it, Sir; and if I die, Sir, I bequeath my Lady to you--with my whole Estate--my Nephew has too much already for a Fool. [_To_ Gayman. _Gay_. I thank you, Sir--do you consent, my _Julia_? L. _Ful_. No, Sir--you do not like me--a canvas Bag of wooden Ladles were a better Bed-fellow.