Sir Feeb.  You are not mad, Brother.

Sir Cau.  No, but I’m wise—­and that’s as good; let me consider.—­

Sir Feeb.  What, whether you shall be a Cuckold or not?

Sir Cau.  Or lose three hundred Pounds—­consider that.  A Cuckold!—­why, ’tis a word—­an empty sound—­’tis Breath—­’tis Air—­’tis nothing:—­but three hundred Pounds—­Lord, what will not three hundred Pounds do?  You may chance to be a Cuckold for nothing, Sir—­

Sir Feeb.  It may be so—­but she shall do’t discretly then.

Sir Cau.  Under favour, you’re an Ass, Brother; this is the discreetest way of doing it, I take it.

Sir Feeb.  But wou’d a wise man expose his Wife?

Sir Cau.  Why, Cato was a wiser Man than I, and he lent his Wife to a young Fellow they call’d Hortensius, as Story says; and can a wise Man have a better Precedent than Cato?

Sir Feeb.  I say, Cato was an Ass, Sir, for obliging any young Rogue of ’em all.

Sir Cau.  But I am of Cato’s mind.  Well, a single Night you say.

Gay.  A single Night—­to have—­to hold—­possess—­and so forth, at discretion.

Sir Cau.  A Night—­I shall have her safe and sound i’th’ Morning.

Sir Feeb.  Safe, no doubt on’t—­but how sound.—­

Gay.  And for Non-performance, you shall pay me three hundred Pounds, I’ll forfeit as much if I tell—­

Sir Cau.  Tell?—­why, make your three hundred pounds six hundred, and let it be put into the Gazet, if you will, Man.—­But it’s a Bargain?

Gay.  Done—­Sir Feeble shall be witness—­and there stands my Hat.

    [Puts down his Hat of Money, and each of em take a Box and Dice,
    and kneel on the Stage, the rest come about ’em.

Sir Cau.  He that comes first to One and thirty wins—­

[They throw and count.

L. Ful.  What are you playing for?

Sir Feeb.  Nothing, nothing—­but a Trial of Skill between an old Man and a Young—­and your Ladyship is to be Judge.

L. Ful.  I shall be partial, Sir.

Sir Cau.  Six and five’s Eleven—­
                             [Throws, and pulls the Hat towards him.

Gay.  Cater Tray—­Pox of the Dice—­

Sir Cau.  Two fives—­one and twenty—­
                                     [Sets up, pulls the Hat nearer.

Gay.  Now, Luck—­Doublets of sixes—­nineteen.

Sir Cau.  Five and four—­thirty—­
                                      [Draws the Hat to him.

Sir Feeb.  Now if he wins it, I’ll swear he has a Fly indeed—­’tis impossible without Doublets of sixes—­

Gay, Now Fortune smile—­and for the future frown. [Throws.