y_, 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.

_Gay_. Cruel Tormenter! Oh, I could kill myself with shame and anger!

L. _Ful_. Come hither, _Bredwel_--witness for my Honour--that I had no
design upon his Person, but that of trying his Constancy.

_Bred_. Believe me, Sir, 'tis true--I feigned a danger near--just as you
got to bed--and I was the kind Devil, Sir, that brought the Gold to you.

_Bea_. And you were one of the Devils that beat me, and the Captain
here, Sir?

_Gay_. No truly, Sir, those were some I hired--to beat you for abusing
me to day.

_Noi_. To make you 'mends, Sir, I bring you the certain News of the
death of Sir _Thomas Gayman_, your Uncle, who has left you Two thousand
pounds a year--

_Gay_. I thank you, Sir--I heard the news before.

Sir _Cau_. How's this; Mr. _Gayman_, my Lady's first Lover? I find, Sir
_Feeble_, we were a couple of old Fools indeed, to think at our Age to
coze