Enter Galliard, whispers.
Fred. Thou knowest my grateful Temper,
—No matter; here, carry this Letter to Cloris,
And make some excuse for my not coming this Evening. Gives him a Letter, and goes out with Lorenzo.
Gal. So, poor Lass, ’tis a hundred to one if she be not
Lay’d by now, and Laura must succeed her:
Well, even Frederick, I see, is but a Man,
But his Youth and Quality will excuse him;
And ’twill be call’d Gallantry in him,
When in one of us, ’tis Ill-nature and Inconstancy.