_Bel_. Renounce this leud Fool, and I’ll make thee a Fortune suitable to thy Quality. Sir _Tim_. Say you so?--Renounce me, Sir! I’d have you to know I merit her: And as for Leudness, I name no body, _Bellmour_--but only some have the Art of hiding it better than I--but for Whoring, Drinking, Dicing, and all the deadly Sins that thereupon depend, I thank my Stars, I come short of you: And since you say, I shall not have your Sister, by Fortune, I will have your Sister, and love your Sister, and lie with your Sister, inspite of you. _Lord_. Well, Sir _Timothy_, since my Niece has done amiss, ‘tis too late to mend it--and that you may not repent, I’ll take care her Fortune shall be suitable to the Jointure you’ll make her. _Bel_. With this Proviso, that you make no Settlement to Misses, Sir _Timothy_--I am not so unreasonable to tie you up from all of that Profession; that were to spoil a fashionable Husband, and so put you quite out of Fop-road. _Lord_. This Day we’ll set apart for Mirth, And all must make my House their happy home. _Bel_. To thee, _Celinda_! all my Good I owe, My Life, my Fortune, and my Honour too, Since all had perish’d by a broken Vow. _Flaunt_. What, am I like to lose my _Timmy_? Canst thou have the Heart to leave me for ever? I who have been true and constant to you? Sir _Tim_. Alas! now I must melt again, by Fortune--thou art a Fool, dost think I wou’d have had her, but for her Fortune? which shall only serve to make thee out-flaunt all the Cracks in Town--go--go home and expect me, thou’lt have me all to thy self within this Day or two: Since Marriage but a larger Licence is For every Fop of Mode to keep a Miss. EPILOGUE. Spoken by Sir _Timothy Tawdrey_. _Sir_ Timothy, _Gallants, at last is come To know his Sentence, and receive his Doom, But pray before you are resolv’d to be Severe, look on your selves, and then on me; Observe me well, I am a Man of Show, Of Noise, and Nonsense, as are most of you. Though all of you don’t share with me in Title, In Character you differ very little. Tell me in what you find a Difference? It may be you will say, you’re Men of Sense; But Faith-- Were one of you o’th’ Stage, and I i’th’ Pit, He might be thought the Fop, and I the Wit. On equal Grounds you’ll scarce know one from t’other; We are as like, as Brother is to Brother. To judge against me then wou’d be Ill-Nature, For Men are kind to those they’re like in Feature. For Judges therefore I accept you all; By you, Sir_ Timothy _will stand or fall. He’s too faint-hearted that his Sentence fears, Who has the Honour to be try’d by’s Peers_. Written by Mr. _E.R_. THE FALSE COUNT. ARGUMENT.