Beau. Hah, a Woman! Perhaps the same he looks for—I’ll counterfeit his Voice and try my Chance—Fortune may set us even.
Aria. Hah, is not that a Man? Yes—and a Chair waiting. [She peeps.
Beau. Who’s there?
Aria. A Maid.
Beau. A Miracle—Oh art thou come, Child?
Aria. ’Tis he, you are a civil Captain, are you not, to make a longing Maid expect thus? What Woman has detain’d you?
Beau. Faith, my Dear, tho Flesh and Blood be frail, yet the dear Hopes of thee has made me hold out with a Herculean Courage—Stay, where shall I carry her? not to my own Apartment; Ariadne may surprize me: I’ll to the Mountebank here i’th’ Piazza, he has a Cure for all things, even for longing Love, and for a Pistole or two will do Reason.—Hah, Company: Here, step into this Chair. [She goes in, they go off just as Will. enters.
Will. Hum, a Woman of Quality and jilt me—Egad, that’s strange now—Well, who shall a Man trust in this wicked World?
Enter La Nuche as before.
La Nu. This should be he, he saunters about like an expecting Lover. [Will. peeping and approaching.