Aria. ’Tis he, and knows not me to be the same he appointed to day—Sir, pursue that Path on your right Hand, that Grove of Orange-Trees, and I’ll follow you immediately.
Will. Kind and civil—prithee make haste, dear Child. [Exit. Will.
Beau. And did you come to call me back again? [Lovingly.
La Nu. No matter, you are to be marry’d, Sir—
Beau. No more, ’tis true, to please my Uncle, I have talk’d of some such thing; but I’ll pursue it no farther, so thou wilt yet be mine, and mine intirely—I hate this Ariadne—for a Wife—by Heaven I do.
Aria. A very plain Confession. [Claps him on the back.
Beau. Ariadne!
La Nu. I’m glad of this, now I shall be rid of him. [Aside.] —How is’t, Sir? I see you struggle hard ’twixt Love and Honour, and I’ll resign my Place— [Offers to go, Ariadne pulls her back.
Aria. Hold, if she take him not away, I shall disappoint my Man—faith, I’ll not be out-done in Generosity. [Gives him to La Nuche.
Here—Love deserves him best—and I resign him—Pox on’t I’m honest, tho that’s no fault of mine; ’twas Fortune who has made a worse Exchange, and you and I should suit most damnably together. [To Beau.