Alcan. I’ll forgive thee that.
Fal. So will not his Majesty: I may be hang’d for’t.
Alcan. Thou should’st be damn’d e’er disobey thy Mistress.
Fal. These be degrees of Love I am not yet arriv’d at; When I am, I shall be as ready to be damn’d In honour as any Lover of you all.
Alcan. Ounds, Sir, d’ye railly with me?
Fal. Your pardon, sweet Alcander, I protest I am Not in so gay an humour.
Alcan. Farewell, I had forgot my self. [Exit.
Fal. Stark mad, by Jove—yet it may be not, for Alcander has many unaccountable humours. Well, if this be agreeable to Aminta, she’s e’en as mad As he, and ‘twere great pity to part them.
Enter Pisaro, Aminta, and Olinda.
Am. Well, have you kill’d him?