La Nu. No matter: Sancho, let the Coach go home, and do you follow me—
Women may boast their Honour and their Pride,
But Love soon lays those feebler Powr’s aside. [Exeunt.
[ Scene I. The Street, or Backside of the Piazza dark.]
Enter Willmore alone.
Will. A Pox upon this Woman that has jilted me, and I for being a fond believing Puppy to be in earnest with so great a Devil. Where be these Coxcombs too? this Blunt and Fetherfool? when a Man needs ’em not, they are plaguing him with their unseasonable Jests—could I but light on them, I would be very drunk to night—but first I’ll try my Fortune with this Woman—let me see—hereabouts is the Door. [Gropes about for the Door.
Enter Beaumond, follow’d by La Nuche, and Sancho.
La Nu. ’Tis he, I know it by his often and uneasy pauses—
Beau. And shall I home and sleep upon my injury, whilst this more happy Rover takes my right away?—no, damn me then for a cold senseless Coward. [Pauses and pulls out a Key.