Mir. Then bring Endimion to me.
Man. Madam, I wish you’d think no more of him; for I foresee, that this Amour must ruin you. Remember [you have left] a Husband for the Prince.
Mir. A Husband! my Drudge, to toil for me, and save me the Expence of careful Thoughts: My Cloke, my Led-Horse, for Necessity to fill my Train—no more—but Endimion waits. Exit Manage.
—There is a native Generosity in me, that checks my Inconstancy to this great Man; yet I have so much Woman in my Soul, cannot pain my self to do him Justice—A new desire of humouring my wish, sways all my Interest, and controuls all my Honour. Why should I lose a Pleasure for a Promise? since Time, that gives our Youth so short a Date, may well excuse our needful Perjury.
Enter Manage, and Olivia, she runs and embraces him.
—Let the young bashful Maid, unskill’d in Love, deny the pressing Swain.
Let wither’d Age, who fondly dreams of Virtue, lose the dear Opportunities of Life.
The coming Hours present themselves to us; and are too nice, not to be snatch’d when offer’d.
Oliv. So hasty! this disarms me of Excuse. Aside.
Mir. Why are thy Eyes bent down? Why dost thou pause?