Alon. Not so good as I could have wisht, for she stands still on her honourable terms.
Lov. Of Matrimony, ha, ha, a very Jilt, I’ll warrant her; Come, come, you shall see her no more.
Alon. Faith, I fear I must.
Lov. To what purpose?
Alon. To persuade her to Reason.
Lov. That you’ll soon do, when she finds you will not bite at t’other Bait.
Alon. The worst is, if I see her again, it must be at her Father’s House; and so transform’d from Man to Beast—I must appear like a ridiculous Lover she expects out of Flanders.
Lov. A very Cheat, a trick to draw thee in: be wise in time.
Alon. No, on my Conscience she’s in earnest, she told me her Name, and his I am to represent.
Lov. What is’t, I pray?