Ros. Good Sir, have a better belief of me.
Lil. Away dear Sister. [Exit.
Mir. Is not this better now, this seeming madness,
Than falling out with your friends?
Bel. Have I not frighted her?
Mir. Into her right wits, I warrant thee: follow this humor,
And thou shalt see how prosperously 'twill guide thee.
Bel. I am glad I have found a way to woo yet, I was afraid once
I never should have made a civil Suiter.
Well, I'le about it still. [Exit.
Mir. Do, do, and prosper.
What sport do I make with these fools! What pleasure
Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor innocence!
Enter Leverduce, alias Lugier, Mr. Illiard.
Wooing and wiving, hang it: give me mirth,
Witty and dainty mirth: I shall grow in love sure
With mine own happy head. Who's this? To me, Sir?
What youth is this?
Lev. Yes, Sir, I would speak with you,
If your name be Monsieur Mirabel.