Aria. I say, ’tis he: thou’st made so many dull Mistakes to Night, thou darest not trust thy Senses when they’re true—How do you, Sir?
Will. That Voice has Comfort in’t, for ’tis a Woman’s: hah, more Interruption?
Aria. A little this way, Sir. [Ex. Aria, and Will. into the Garden.
Enter Beaumond, Abevile in a submissive Posture.
Beau. No more excuses—By all these Circumstances, I know this Ariadne is a Gipsy. What difference then beween a money-taking Mistress and her that gives her Love? only perhaps this sins the closer by’t, and talks of Honour more: What Fool wou’d be a Slave to empty Name, or value Woman for dissembling well? I’ll to La Nuche—the honester o’th’ two—Abevile—get me my Musick ready, and attend me at La Nuche’s. [Ex. severally.
Luc. He’s gone, and to his Mistress too.
Enter Ariadne pursu’d by Willmore.
Will. My little Daphne, ’tis in vain to fly, unless like her, you cou’d be chang’d into a Tree: Apollo’s self pursu’d not with more eager Fire than I. [Holds her.
Aria. Will you not grant a Parly e’er I yield?
Will. I’m better at a Storm.