Enter Prince and George, at the Door.
Geo. ’Sdeath, you have made these Pauses and Alarms to give her time to jilt you.
Prince. Pray Heaven she do—I’d not be undeceiv’d for all the Sun surveys. Enters.
Mir. My Lord the Prince! now you are kind indeed. Goes and embraces him.
—hah! what means this Unconcern?
Prince. I thought I’ad left you sick, extremely sick.
Mir. And are you griev’d to find my Health return?
Prince. No, wondrous glad of it. You’re mighty gay, Mirtilla, much in Glory.
Mir. Can he, who lays his Fortune at my Feet, think me too glorious for his Arms and Eyes?
Geo. Fifty to one the Gipsy jilts him yet. Aside.