consider how the poor old Man is frighted.

[Bellmour _re-enters, puts on his Coat_.

_Bel_.--He's gone, and lock'd himself into his Chamber--
And now, my dear _Leticia_, let us fly--

_Despair till now did my wild Heart invade,
But pitying Love has the rough Storm allay'd_.

[_Exeunt_.

SCENE III. _Sir_ Cautious _his Garden_.

_Enter two Porters and_ Rag, _bearing_ Gayman _in a Chest;
set it down, he comes forth with a Dark-lanthorn_.

_Gay_. Set down the Chest behind yon hedge of Roses--and then put on
those Shapes I have appointed you--and be sure you well-favour'dly bang
both _Bearjest_ and _Noisey_, since they have a mind to see the Devil.

_Rag_. Oh, Sir, leave 'em to us for that; and if we do not play the
Devil with 'em, we deserve they shou'd beat us. But, Sir, we are in Sir
_Cautious_ his Garden, will he not sue us for a Trespass?

_Gay_. I'll bear you out; be ready at my Call.

[_Exeunt_.

--Let me see--I have got no ready stuff to banter with--but no matter,
any Gibberish will serve the Fools--'tis now about the hour of Ten--but
Twelve is my appointed lucky Minute, when all the Blessings that my Soul
could wish, shall be resign'd to me.

_Enter_ Bredwel.

--Hah! who's there? _Bredwel_?

_Bred_. Oh, are you come, Sir--and can you be so kind to a poor Youth,
to favour his Designs, and bless his Days?

_Gay_. Yes, I am ready here with all my Devils, both to secure you your
Mistress, and to cudgel your Captain and Squire, for abusing me behind
my Back so basely.

_Bred_. 'Twas most unmanly, Sir, and they deserve it--I wonder that they
come not.

_Gay_. How durst you trust her with him?

_Bred_. Because 'tis dangerous to steal a City-Heiress, and let the
Theft be his--so the dear Maid be mine--Hark--sure they come--

_Enter_ Bearjest, _runs against_ Bredwel.

--Who's there? Mr. _Bearjest_?

_Bea_. Who's that? _Ned_? Well, I have brought my Mistress, hast thou
got a Parson ready, and a License?

_Bred_. Ay, ay, but where's the Lady?

_Bea_. In the Coach, with the Captain at the Gate. I came before, to see
if the Coast be clear.

_Bred_. Ay, Sir; but what shall we do? here's Mr. _Gayman_ come on
purpose to shew you the Devil, as you desir'd.

_Bea_. Sho! a Pox of the Devil, Man--I can't attend to speak with
him now.

_Gay_. How, Sir! D'ye think my D