Alas, Sir, he’s thus as often as he sees a beautiful Lady, since he lost a Mistress, who dy’d in Flanders to whom he was contracted.
Sir Mer. Good lack—ay, ay, he’s distracted, it seems.
Page. See how he kneels to her! stand off, and do but mind him.
Mir. Rise, Sir,—you’l ruin me—dissemble if you love—or you can ne’er be happy. In a low Voice, and raising him.
Prince. My Transport is too high for a Disguise—give me some hope, promise me some Relief, or at your Feet I’ll pierce a wounded Heart.
Mir. Rise, and hope for all you wish: Alas, he faints— She takes him up, he falls upon her Bosom.
Page. Hold him fast, Madam, between your Arms, and he’ll recover presently. Stand all away.—
Prince. Oh! tell me, wilt thou bless my Youth and Love? Oh! swear, lest thou shouldst break—for Women wou’d be Gods, but for Inconstancy.
Page. See, he begins to come to himself again—keep off—
Mir. You have a thousand Charms that may secure you—The Ceremony of my Nuptials is every Evening celebrated, the noise of which draws all the Town together; be here in Masquerade, and I’ll contrive it so, that you shall speak with me this Night alone.