Never to be unjust—have you forgot so soon?
Will. Faith no, I was just coming to repeat ’em—but here’s a Humour indeed—would make a Man a Saint—Wou’d she’d be angry enough to leave me, and command me not to wait on her. [Aside.
Enter Hellena, drest in Man’s Clothes.
Hell. This must be Angelica, I know it by her mumping Matron here—Ay, ay,’tis she: my mad Captain’s with her too, for all his swearing—how this [unconstant] Humour makes me love him:—pray, good grave Gentlewoman, is not this Angelica?
Moret. My too young Sir, it is—I hope ’tis one from Don Antonio. [Goes to Angelica.
Hell. Well, something I’ll do to vex him for this. [Aside.
Ang. I will not speak with him; am I in humour to receive a Lover?
Will. Not speak with him! why I’ll be gone—and wait your idler minutes—Can I shew less Obedience to the thing I love so fondly? [Offers to go.
Ang. A fine Excuse this—stay—
Will. And hinder your Advantage: should I repay your Bounties so ungratefully?