Geo. Is this design’d or real?—perhaps she is retir’d for me—Mrs. Manage.— Manage re-enters, he pulls her by the Sleeve.
Man. Hah! Monsieur Lejere! what shall I feign to put him off withal. Aside.
Geo. Why dost thou start? How does my dear Mirtilla?
Man. Reposing, Sir, awhile, but anon I’ll wait on her for your admittance.
Prince Frederick puts on Welborn’s Cloke, goes out, and Welborn enters into the Company dress’d like the Prince.
Geo. Ha, she spoke in passing by that gay thing—What means it, but I’ll trace the Mystery.
Sir Row. The young People are lazy, and here’s nothing but gaping and peeping in one another’s Vizards; come, Madam, let you and I shame ’em into Action.
Sir Rowland and Lady Youthly dance. After the Dance, [Olivia enters] with a Letter, and gives it to Welborn.
Wel. Ha! what’s this, Sir, a Challenge?
Oliv. A soft one, Sir.