Sir Feeb.  Then he falls to telling of her Grievance, till (half maudlin) she weeps again:  Just my Condition, cries a third:  so the Frolick goes round, and we poor Cuckolds are anatomiz’d, and turn’d the right side outwards; adsbobs, we are, Sir Cautious.

Sir Cau.  Ay, ay, this Grievance ought to be redrest, Sir Feeble; the grave and sober part o’th’ Nation are hereby ridicul’d,—­Ay, and cuckolded too for ought I know.

L. Ful.  Wise Men knowing this, should not expose their Infirmities, by marrying us young Wenches; who, without Instruction, find how we are impos’d upon.

    Enter Fiddles playing, Mr.  Bearjest and Diana dancing;
    Bredwel, Noisey, &c.

L. Ful.  So, Cousin, I see you have found the way to Mrs. Dy’s Heart.

Bea.  Who, I, my dear Lady Aunt?  I never knew but one way to a Woman’s Heart, and that road I have not yet travelled; for my Uncle, who is a wise Man, says Matrimony is a sort of a—­kind of a—­as it were, d’ye see, of a Voyage, which every Man of Fortune is bound to make one time or other:  and Madam—­I am, as it were—­a bold Adventurer.

Dia.  And are you sure, Sir, you will venture on me?

Bea.  Sure!—­I thank you for that—­as if I could not believe my Uncle; For in this case a young Heir has no more to do, but to come and see, settle, marry, and use you scurvily.

Dia.  How, Sir, scurvily?

Bea.  Very scurvily, that is to say, be always fashionably drunk, despise the Tyranny of your Bed, and reign absolutely—­keep a Seraglio of Women, and let my Bastard Issue inherit; be seen once a Quarter, or so, with you in the Park for Countenance, where we loll two several ways in the gilt Coach like Janus, or a Spread-Eagle.

Dia.  And do you expect I shou’d be honest the while?

Bea.  Heaven forbid, not I, I have not met with that Wonder in all my Travels.

L. Ful.  How, Sir, not an honest Woman?

Bea.  Except my Lady Aunt—­Nay, as I am a Gentleman and the first of my
Family—­you shall pardon me, here—­cuff me, cuff me soundly.
          
                                              [Kneels to her.

Enter Gayman richly drest.

Gay.  This Love’s a damn’d bewitching thing—­Now though I should lose my Assignation with my Devil, I cannot hold from seeing Julia to night:  hah—­there, and with a Fop at her Feet.—­Oh Vanity of Woman!
          
                                          [Softly pulls her.

L. Ful.  Oh, Sir, you’re welcome from Northamptonshire.

Gay.  Hum—­surely she knows the Cheat. [Aside.

L. Ful.  You are so gay, you save me, Sir, the labour of asking if your
Uncle be alive.