ommission reaches no farther.

_Blunt._ Sir, I'll excuse your Complement:-- what, in Bed, my sweet
Mistress?

_Luc._ You see, I still out-do you in kindness.

_Blunt._ And thou shall see what haste I'll make to quit scores-- oh the
luckiest Rogue!
[Undresses himself.

_Luc._ Shou'd you be false or cruel now!

_Blunt._ False, 'Sheartlikins, what dost thou take me for a _Jew_? an
insensible Heathen,-- A Pox of thy old jealous Husband: and he were
dead, egad, sweet Soul, it shou'd be none of my fault, if I did not
marry thee.

_Luc._ It never shou'd be mine.

_Blunt._ Good Soul, I'm the fortunatest Dog!

_Luc._ Are you not undrest yet?

_Blunt._ As much as my Impatience will permit.
[Goes towards the Bed in his Shirt and Drawers.

_Luc._ Hold, Sir, put out the Light, it may betray us else.

_Blunt._ Any thing, I need no other Light but that of thine Eyes!--
'sheartlikins, there I think I had it.
[Aside.
[Puts out the Candle, the Bed descends, he gropes about to find it.
--Why-- why-- where am I got? what, not yet?-- where are you sweetest?--
ah, the Rogue's silent now-- a pretty Love-trick this-- how she'll laugh
at me anon!-- you need not, my dear Rogue! you need not! I'm all on a
fire already-- come, come, now call me in for pity-- Sure I'm enchanted!
I have been round the Chamber, and can find neither Woman, nor Bed--
I lockt the Door, I'm sure she cannot go that way; or if she cou'd, the
Bed cou'd not-- Enough, enough, my pretty Wanton, do not carry the Jest
too far-- Ha, betray'd! Dogs! Rogues! Pimps! help! help!
[Lights on a Trap, and is let down.

Enter _Lucetta_, _Philippo_, and _Sancho_ with a Light.

_Phil._ Ha, ha, ha, he's dispatcht finely.

_Luc._ Now, Sir, had I been coy, we had mist of this Booty.

_Phil._ Nay when I saw 'twas a substantial Fool, I was mollified; but
when you doat upon a Serenading Coxcomb, upon a Face, fine Clothes, and
a Lute, it makes me rage.

_Luc._ You know I never was guilty of that Folly, my dear _Philippo_,
but with your self-- But come let's see what we have got by this.

_Phil._ A rich Coat!-- Sword and Hat!-- these Breeches too-- are well
lin'd!-- see here a Gold Watch!-- a Purse-- ha! Gold!-- at least two
hundred Pistoles! a bunch of Diamond Rings; and one with the Family
Arms!-- a Gold Box!-- with a Medal of his King! and his Lady Mother's
Picture!-- these were sacred Reliques, believe me!-- see, the Wasteband
of his Breeches have