Month in her Chamber; but I presented high: she
sigh'd and wept, and swore she'd never marry: still I presented; she
hated, loathed, spit upon me; still, adod, I presented, till I presented
my self effectually in Church to her; for she at last wisely considered
her Vows were cancell'd, since _Bellmour_ was hang'd.

_Bel_. Faith, Sir, this was very cruel, to take away his Fame, and then
his Mistress.

Sir _Feeb_. Cruel! thou'rt an Ass, we are but even with the brisk
Rogues, for they take away our Fame, cuckold us, and take away our
Wives: so, so, my Cap, _Francis_.

_Bel_. And do you think this Marriage lawful, Sir?

Sir _Feeb_. Lawful! it shall be when I've had Livery and Seisin of her
Body--and that shall be presently Rogue,--quick--besides, this
_Bellmour_ dares as well be hang'd as come into _England_.

_Bel_. If he gets his Pardon, Sir--

Sir _Feeb_. Pardon! no, no, I have took care for that, for I have, you
must know, got his Pardon already.

_Bel_. How, Sir! got his Pardon, that's some amends for robbing him of
his Wife.

Sir _Feeb_. Hold, honest _Francis_: What, dost think 'twas in kindness
to him! No, you Fool, I got his Pardon my self, that no body else should
have it, so that if he gets any body to speak to his Majesty for it, his
Majesty cries he has granted it; but for want of my appearance, he's
defunct, trust up, hang'd, _Francis_.

_Bel_. This is the most excellent revenge I ever heard of.

Sir _Feeb_. Ay, I learnt it of a great Politician of our Times.

_Bel_. But have you got his Pardon?--

Sir _Feeb_. I've done't, I've done't; Pox on him, it cost me five
hundred pounds though: Here 'tis, my Solicitor brought it me this
Evening. [_Gives it him_.

_Bel_. This was a lucky hit--and if it scape me, let me be hang'd by a
Trick indeed. [_Aside_.

Sir _Feeb_. So, put it into my Cabinet,--safe, _Francis_, safe.

_Bel_. Safe, I'll warrant you, Sir.

Sir _Feeb_. My Gown, quick, quick,--t'other Sleeve, Man--so now my
Night-cap; well, I'll in, throw open my Gown to fright away the Women,
and jump into her Arms.
[_Exit Sir_ Feeble.

_Bel_. He's gone, quickly, oh Love inspire me!

_Enter a Footman_.

_Foot_. Sir, my Master, Sir _Cautious Fulbank_, left his Watch on the
little Parlor-Table to night, and bid me call for't.

_Bel_. Hah--the Bridegroom has it, Sir, who is just gone to Bed, it
shall be sent him in the Morning.

_Foot_. 'Tis very well, Sir--y