—Ha! What bright Vision’s that?
Mir. Heav’n! ’Tis the lovely Prince I saw in Flanders. Aside.
Sir Mer. Look how he stares—why, what the Devil ails he?
Sir Morg. To her, Sir, or so, d’ye see, what a Pox, are you afraid of her?
L. Blun. He’s in Admiration of her Beauty, Child.
Prince. By Heav’n, the very Woman I adore! Aside.
Sir Morg. How d’ye, see, Sir, how do ye, ha, ha, ha?
Prince. I cannot be mistaken; for Heav’n made nothing but young Angels like her!
Sir Morg. Look ye, Page, is your Master in his right Wits?
Sir Mer. Sure he’s in love, and Love’s a devilish thing.