La. Lov. Where is he; Let me fly and bind his Wounds up with my Hair, lull him upon my own Bosom, and sing him into softest ease.
To Feast, and Revels Dedicate the Day.
Let the old Misers stores be all expos'd, and made the Soldiers Prey!
D' ye hear, let the Butler dye, least he tell Tales.
Betty. Madam, he shall then, no body will dare contradict us in the Cellar neither. (Exeunt.
Mr. Prais. Well said, Mrs. Betty; she loves a Cup, I like her the better for't.
Mr. Awd. A hopeful Wife, this! do's she go on thus Triumphant?
Mar. I have sworn to answer you no more Questions.
L. Whiff. Indeed, Madam, you have made her very wicked.
Mar. The woman is a little Mischievous; but your Lordship shall see I'll bring her to Condign Punnishment. My Lord, I will be bold to say, here is a Scene a coming, wherein there is the greatest Distress that ever was seen in a Play: 'tis poor Amorous, and Isabella. Mr. Praisall, do you remember that old Whimsicall was all along a Philosopher? Come let down the Chariot.
Mr. Prais. Lord Madam, do you think I don't, why was not he and I a going to the Moon together?
Mar. Right! you must keep a steady, and a solid Thought to find the Depths of this plot out. Now, my Lord, be pleas'd once again to conceive these poor Lovers hunted above the Castle, at last taking Sanctuary in a high pair of Leads, which adjoyns to the old Man's study; conceive also their Enemies at their Heels; how then can these lost Creatures 'scape?