Arth. Or any one!
Barb. Dear lady, it is time.
Flor. Farewell, sir! yet I bid you take this purse 'Tis justice—nay, my will!
Arth. Oh, farewell, Florence
May angels light thy feet, and all the stars
From heaven race with envious beams to shed
Celestial brightness on the path thou blessest.
[Exit FLORENCE, R. ARTHUR gazes after FLORENCE. WILLIAM and BARBARA, coming down, L.]
Will. Sweet Bab, I love thee.
Barb. That is a man's saying.
Will. Thou wouldst not have it said by anything but a man. Thou wilt not forget?
Barb. There, yes! no! anything!
[Tries to get away. WILLIAM gives BARBARA a kiss.]