Mar_. I have a Letter for you—from Viterbo, and your Marcella, Sir. [Gives it him.
Fil. Hah—Viterbo! and Marcella! It shocks me like the Ghost of some forsaken Mistress, That met me in the way to Happiness, With some new long’d-for Beauty! [Opens it, reads.
Mar. Now I shall try thy Virtue, and my Fate.— [Aside.
Fil. What is’t that checks the Joy, that shou’d surprize me at the receipt of this.
Gal. How now! what’s the cold fit coming on? [Pauses.
Fil. I have no power to go—where this—invites me—
By which I prove ‘tis no encrease of Flame that warms my Heart,
But a new Fire just kindled from those Eyes—
Whose Rays I find more piercing than Marcella’s.
Gal.—Ay, Gad, a thousand times—prithee, what’s the matter?
Mar. Oh, this false-souled Man—wou’d I had leisure To be reveng’d for this Inconstancy! [Aside.
Fil.—But still she wants that Virtue I admire.
Gal. Virtue! ‘S’death thou art always fumbling upon that dull string that makes no Musick.—What Letter’s that? [Reads.] If the first Confession I ever made of Love be grateful to you, come arm’d to night with a Friend or two; and behind the Garden of the Fountains, you will receive—hah, Marcella!—Oh, damn it, from your honest Woman!—Well, I see the Devil’s never so busy with a Man, as when he has resolv’d upon any Goodness! S’death, what a rub’s here in a fair cast,—how is’t man? Alegremente! bear up, defy him and all his Works.