Isab. Alas my fears return; what shall I do? I dare not dye.
Amor. Oh Let not Monstrous Fear deform the Beauties of thy Soul, but brave thy Fate.
Mar. Louder; but brave thy Fate; strain your Voice: I tell you, Mr. Pinkethman, this speaking Loud gets the Clap.
Amo. Pox of this Heroick; I shall tear my Lungs. (Aside. But brave thy Fate.
Mar. Aye, that goes to ones very Heart.
Awd. And rends ones Head.
Isab. I cannot, I dare not; Oh, they come! where shall I hide me? (Gets into the Chariot.
Amo. For Heav'n's sake, Madam, come from hence: This will expose us to all their scorn. (goes in after.
Mar. Now, now, up with it. Here, my Lord, here's the wonder; this very Chariot Whimsical had been making fifty Years, contriv'd beyond all humane Art, for the Sun to draw up to the Moon; at this very Critical minute the Matter's affected. Is not your Lordship surpriz'd?
L. Whif. I know not where I am!