Scar. Why, Madam, there is a certain cordial Balsam, call’d a Fair Lady; which outwardly applied to his Bosom, will prove a better cure than all your Weapon or sympathetick Powder, meaning your Ladyship.
Ela. Is Cinthio then not wounded?
Scar. No otherwise than by your fair Eyes, Madam; he got away unseen and unknown.
Ela. Dost know how precious time is, and dost thou fool it away thus? What said he to my Letter?
Scar. What should he say?
Ela. Why, a hundred dear soft things of Love, kiss it as often, and bless me for my Goodness.
Scar. Why, so he did.
Ela. Ask thee a thousand Questions of my Health after my last night’s fright.
Scar. So he did.
Ela. Expressing all the kind concern Love cou’d inspire, for the Punishment my Father has inflicted on me, for entertaining him at my Window last night.